


we are the foxes (and we run)

by ivyrobinson



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/M, I mean sort of, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson
Summary: you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me? (...yes)
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 187
Kudos: 73





	1. prologue

Anya was a master of sneaking out. This time was more important than the others, so she was far more careful than she normally would be. It’s early spring, and she’s still months away from her 18th birthday, months away from her high school graduation and months away from the so-called system that will spit her out into the streets. 

There’s not much to pack, she’s not gathered much over the past years she’s spent in the foster care system. Just a matter of taking her fate into her own hands. Even if some things were already out of it. 

This all felt like a bit of a show, she was a breath away from being kicked out anyway. She’s too rash, too impulsive, too careless with her own self for self preservation. 

There’s something romantic and calming about disappearing into the night. 

It’s a bit anticlimactic when her feet hit the sidewalk, and not a single obstacle stood in her way, not a single being stirred. Her impact on the world isn’t enough to cause a ripple in her immediate circle. 

There’s still one thing that can go wrong. 

But he’s there before she can even finish the thought, hand on her elbow. 

“Second thoughts?” Dmitry Sudayev asks her, but they’re already walking away from the apartment building she’s resided in for the past six months. 

She shakes her head, hand slipping into his. “Haven’t even formed first thoughts.” 

They’ve become friends, of sorts- the emphasis on of sorts over the past six months before making a getaway together. 

Anya doesn’t really trust anyone, but she’s taking a leap of faith anyway. There’s not much of a choice there, but she pushes that thought from her mind. 

The night air comes out in puffs from her mouth as she waits for him to unlock his car, tugging the sleeves from her sweater over her hands and resting her hands on the strap of her backpack. 

Dmitry pulls open the door for her, and presses his lips against her lightly. That’s new. 

“Your lips look cold,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes as she drops her bag on the floor in front of the seat and slides into the car. 

“What a move, Sudayev,” she says, tipping her head back, squinting against the bright streetlights. 

There’s no other cars on the road. His car is noisy as they pull away but she supposes it doesn’t matter at this point. The chugging of the car may as well be chanting _you’re free, you’re free_ to her in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a young girl. 

It must lull her to sleep because she wakes up several hours and a state later, the bright lights of a city given to dim headlights and the shadows of backroads. 

She doesn’t know where they’re headed, but Dmitry always has a plan. 

There is still one little thing they need to work into this running away plan, however. 

“Hey,” she says, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. The radio is low, quieter than the sound of the engine. “Should probably mention something to you.” 

Dmitry glances over at her, it’s too dark to make out his mood or response. “What’s that?” 

“I’m pregnant.”


	2. chapter 1

Surprisingly, Dmitry does not crash the car. He does, however, pull it off to the side of the road so Anya can stumble out and vomit. She crouches down while he holds her blonde hair back and she casts up whatever she had eaten that day and then some. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, resting her forehead against her knees and stays in a crouched position. 

“I’m just glad you didn’t do it in the car,” he says lightly, his hand rubs her back lightly. 

This does explain quite a bit. How she suddenly switched from day dreaming about running away to being rather earnest about it. 

He doesn’t blame her. He’s only just gotten out of foster care the year before, so he didn’t think about it too much and he didn’t have anything holding him here. And Anya is charming and persuasive company. 

He had thought…

Well it didn’t matter what he thought now. 

“Sorry for the news too,” she says, not lifting her head up. “It’s yours, by the way.” 

“Gathered that,” he says, and helps her get back up to standing. He keeps his hands on her as she sways on her feet. “How long…?” 

“Don’t know,” she answers and sits back down in the passenger seat. “Haven’t really been to a doctor.”

Dmitry is not surprised at all by that. He reaches into the backseat and finds an unopened bottle of water and unscrews it before handing it to her. 

“Did you take a test?” Dmitry asks her and she nods. 

“Took several,” she sighs and takes a small sip of water. It’s almost three in the morning and they’re somewhere in Indiana. “Do you know how hard it is to pee on a stick?” 

He shakes his head, “Probably much easier for me.”

Anya snorts at that. She takes another sip of water, swishing it around her mouth and leaning forward to spit it out on the ground. 

“Think I’m okay to ride again.” 

“When did you eat last?” Dmitry asks her, once he’s rounded back to the driver’s seat. 

Anya shrugs. “Don’t remember.” He pulls back onto the road. “Do you have a plan?” 

He barely had one for the two of them, with this change he had no idea what the fuck he was doing. 

“Making it up as we go,” he says, reaching over to squeeze her knee. 

“That’s worked so well for us,” she says, and reaches over to fiddle with the radio station. She stops just as he pulls into a 24 hour gas station. “You don’t have to keep going with me, you know? Just drop me off at whatever town we are at in the morning and you can go wherever you’d like. I just couldn’t stay there.” 

It’s never even crossed his mind. But he knows the defense of giving people an out so they can’t let you down. 

It’s three am, he can’t even begin to process this night. 

“You’re stuck with me,” Dmitry tells her. “Do you want something to eat or just, like saltines?”

She looks like she wants to argue about something but she’s tired and rests her head against the window. “Chex mix. Bold party mix. Something fizzy.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Dmitry tells her and goes into the store. He picks up some beef jerky for him, grabs a couple bags of her preferred Chex mix for her, a bottle of Monster and a bottle of ginger ale. 

He picks up some single packets of medicine- Advil, tylenol, alka seltzer, and anything else they might need for the trip. There’s some single flowers for sale by the register. They look like they’re on the other side of blossoming, had probably been there since Valentine’s Day the month before. Impulsively he reaches over and takes a pink daisy. 

Once back out at the car he hands her the ginger ale and one of the bags of Chex mix and then the flower. 

She looks at it warily, “What is this?” 

“A daisy,” he says, simply. It seemed like a nice gesture at the time, because he had no idea how else to react to the girl you’ve been hooking up with casually the past few months and are running away with saying she’s pregnant. 

“You’re so earnest,” she complains, but she sets it down gently on her lap as she opens her bag. “Don’t even know if I should keep it. The baby, I mean.” 

Dmitry bites his lip, holding back his impulse reaction. “Should probably get you to the doctor.” 

“Can’t afford the doctor,” she points out. “Probably going to end up one of those teen girls who gives birth in a bathroom stall.” 

He ignores that particular comment. “We should find the closest Planned Parenthood then.” 

Anya plays with the bottom of the daisy stem, bending it backwards. “Do you think I should have it?” 

“I think that’s up to you,” Dmitry responds carefully. “I’ll support you either way.” 

“That’s a stupid answer,” she tells him, and he hears the hiss of the ginger ale as she opens it. “No nineteen year old boy wants to play at parenting with their fuck buddy.”

Anya clearly wants to argue with someone. Channel her anger. He can relate, which is also why the two of them would butt heads so often in the past. 

“What was running away together about?” 

“You were the only person I knew with a car,” she says, simply. Then holds out her bag to offer some to him. An olive branch, he guesses. “Considered adoption. The whole movie idea where some nice couple looking to adopt would pay for the medical side of things.” 

He takes a handful. “There are a lot of options.”

It’s a weird heavy conversation to be having over news he just found out in the past hour or so. But also probably the only time to have such a weird conversation was in the middle of the night. 

“So many people leave in this world,” Anya continues on, staring up at the sky as they drive. “Don’t think I could be another one of them.”

He does not point out the irony of her saying that while they are literally in the middle of running away. 

But he gets what she means. 

“Me either,” he agrees. “You should still get checked out.” 

Anya makes a face but doesn’t argue and the sun begins to rise on the horizon. 

-

They find a motel mid afternoon and check in, bringing in their meager belongings, snacks, and the dinner they just picked up from McDonalds. 

They split a large fry and a forty pack of nuggets, most of the fries swiped by Anya. There’s only one bed, but that hardly matters at this point. The heaviness from the night before evaporated in the morning, her having slept through most of the car ride until late morning. 

Anya dunks her nugget in sweet and sour sauce, “Where are we headed?”

“Chicago,” he says. “Planned Parenthood. Then maybe keep heading west. I have some friends in Portland or Seattle.” 

“Was that always the plan?” She asks him, adding more pepper to the fries. 

“Not the Planned Parenthood part, but yes to Chicago,” he says. “This guy I know needs help on a construction site and I thought it might be good to have some money.” 

“How do you know so many people across America?” Anya asks him. 

Dmitry shrugs, “I’m a friendly guy.” 

“Oh, I remember,” she says and finishes off the last nugget before leaning back against the headboard. “Are we staying in your car?” 

“Room above his garage,” Dmitry answers. “As a thank you for helping out.” 

“Does he know about me?” 

“That you’re pregnant? I barely know that about you,” he says, poking her in the leg. “That you’ll be with me? Yes.” 

“I should get a job too,” she declares. “Something where they don’t mind if I vomit.” 

“If such a job exists,” he points out and picks up the trash of their meal and tosses it in the can next to the bed. He sits back next to her on the bed. “Can I…?”

Anya stares at him blankly for a moment before realizing what he’s asking. She uncrosses her arms from her chest. “There’s not much to feel but go ahead.” 

She pulls her sweater up slightly and he slides his hand over her stomach. It doesn’t feel much different than the last time he touched her, but he also wasn’t aware of any possible changes. There’s a tiny bit of a curve but that’s all. 

He turns his head to say something- nothing important, a comment or a joke. But she bends down and captures his lip in a kiss, pulling him on her. 

It feels fragile to do this now, when once it was natural and reckless and fun. 

They should have more conversations than they’ve had. But this is how they’ve always communicated with mouths and hands and everything else but words. 

There’s a plea for comfort in her kiss and he gives in, trying to give her what she needs to hear in this moment non-verbally. 

There’s miles and months left for talking.


	3. chapter two

It’s around midnight when Anya stirs awake. Her sleep schedule is completely thrown off by the hours they’ve kept while running away. Dmitry has rolled away from her in his sleep but his arm is still laying on her. At this point she has no idea if it’s a good idea or not to sleep with the father of her child who she’s run away with, but she’s also fairly certain it can’t make matters worse. 

She feels around and finds the shirt she pulled off of him earlier and pulls it over her head to wear. The hotel room is tiny and doesn’t have much in it. She sorts around before she finds a bottle of water and another bag of Chex mix. 

It’s not the healthiest diet to have, she’s certain. She dreads going to the doctor and being told everything she’s done wrong and how she’s disappointing her unborn child before it can even really exist. 

Anya keeps trying to imagine growing an entire person inside of her and then spending every day with it and watching it become a person. 

She hasn’t even had anyone on the other end of that for her in years. 

Dmitry is a planner though, and thinks some things through which is more than she can say for herself. 

The end of her hair is tugged on lightly, and she turns to see Dmitry blinking awake. 

“What time is it?” He asks, rubbing his eyes. 

“Around midnight,” she answers. 

“Should probably get on a regular sleep schedule,” he says and she shrugs, leaning forward to put away her snacks. “We can go out to breakfast in the morning.” 

Anya shakes her head, “It’s the worst in the morning.” Even though it happens throughout the day. 

“A plain bagel at least,” Dmitry tells her. “Can’t be good to throw up nothing.” 

She’s pretty sure she’s lost weight since she’s been pregnant, but she doesn’t have anything to go by. There were no scales in the last place she lived. Her roommate had bulimia, and they’d both spent evenings over the toilet. 

“Sure,” she agrees, because it’s easier than arguing. She lays back on the bed and he pulls her against her. Strong and warm. “You don’t have to…” 

Dmitry makes a noise, probably not wanting to argue with her as well. “What’s your last name, anyway? Before we end up anywhere and look stupid for not knowing the others.”

“Just you,” she tells him. “I know yours is Sudayev.” 

His nose nuzzles her cheek, “Didn’t realize you were so obsessed with me.” 

“Others call you Sudayev instead of Dmitry,” she reminds him. 

Anya was Anya or oh it’s you. She’s been well trained to be invisible for years now. 

“And you?” 

“I’ve called you Dmitry,” she says, deliberately misinterpreting his question. “And asshole, a time or five. Is there another name you’d prefer.” 

“My father used to call me Dima,” Dmitry tells her. She wrinkles her nose because it feels too intimate. “And I meant what is your last name?”

Anya considers giving him her real last name or…

“Dagmar,” she says. It’s as real of a last name as she’s got at the moment. It’s on her driver’s license and everything. “Anya Nicolette Dagmar.” 

“Would’ve expected something Russian,” he says, and when she looks confused, he continues. “You definitely speak Russian during sex.” 

“It only sounds Russian,” Anya says, rolling onto her back. “I speak many languages, maybe I’ll try French next time.”

It’s all the invitation he needs to lean over and kiss her, his shirt that she’s wearing bunched in his hands. Their mouths are salty from their respective snacks.

Restless energy unwinds from her and she pushes his head down lower. 

-

It’s a late start to Chicago, and Dmitry makes her drive part of the way there while he makes final arrangements with the friend they are staying with and calling the Planned Parenthoods in the area to see when one could see her. 

“No,” he says, and pushes her hand away when she goes to turn the music up on the radio. “No insurance.” A pause. “Seventeen.” A glance over at her. “She doesn’t know. Anya Dagmar.” 

He hangs up the phone a few moments later. “They can see you at the end of the day.” 

“What is this going to accomplish if I already know I’m pregnant?” Anya asks, even though she knows the answer. She’s just agitated by life at the moment. 

“Thought you wanted to know your options,” Dmitry says. “And can check to make sure everything is healthy with both of you, and when you’re due if you have it.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, ripping off a piece of bagel and dipping it into the cream cheese cup. It’s her fourth bagel of the day. 

“Why do you know so much about pregnancy appointments?” 

He ducks her gaze, “Googled it.” 

Of course he did. “Are we going to your friend’s first?” 

“No, should head to the appointment and then we can meet up with Vlad,” he says, reaching over to plug his phone in. She’d left hers underneath her pillow, it was a pay as you go flip phone so it wasn’t much to leave behind. “I’ll put it in maps.” 

They arrive at the building five minutes before her appointment, it’s sandwiched between a yoga studio and a used bookstore. 

Anya looks longingly over at the bookstore as they walk in. 

His hand slips in hers and she leans against him as she checks in. Her flight instinct has her foot tapping. But ditching the appointment wouldn’t make her any less pregnant. 

Half the girls in there look like her, but alone. 

“Anna Dagmar?” The receptionist calls. 

“Anya,” she corrects but pulls Dmitry around to follow her. 

She’s swept into a room full of helpful posters and figures. She wonders if she should finish her high school degree or just let her education fade out like everything else in her life. 

The doctor comes in, looking fresh out of med school and reading the Questionnaire of her medical history that they had to fill out when she gets there. 

“We are going to do an ultrasound, if that’s okay with you,” the doctor explains. “Since you’re not certain how far along you are.” She pulls out a machine and Anya pulls up the sweatshirt she had taken from Dmitry’s bag that morning. She knows this part from the movies. “You’re a little underweight, and I’d like to come up with a nutrition plan before you leave. Do you have a regular doctor?” 

“No we just moved to the area,” Anya says, and even though it’s the truth most things feel like a lie. It’s not why she doesn’t have a regular doctor. “Cleveland.” 

“I did premed at Oberlin,” the doctor says, conversationally. “We have contact.” She points at the same image on the screen. An oversized head and tiny limbs. “I would place you at about eleven weeks, due around October it seems.” 

Ah well that answered that. 

Dmitry leans forward, hand crushing hers squinting at the image. It looks so strange...to think of this strange alien growing inside of her. Dependent on the things she does and the choices she makes. 

It’s been so long since she had anything resembling family. 

“We wanted to know about options,” Dmitry speaks up, because she’s too distracted by the ultrasound screen to remember half of the things she was supposed to ask or think about. 

“Well,” the doctor says, not missing a beat. “We offer some prenatal care but do recommend you get a regular doctor. If payment and insurance is an issue we can refer you to some offices who do have programs in place to help teenage parents. If you’re looking for adoption, we do have agencies we have worked with in the past that we can connect you with and some pamphlets if you’d like to think about it more. And if you’re looking to terminate, we do not offer the pill after 10 weeks but the surgical procedure is available until 19 weeks.” 

“I don’t want to do adoption,” Anya says, apparently having made a decision. She knew what it was like to be in the foster care system, and she knew it wasn’t the same but she was either going to do this or not do this. 

“Is there anything you’d like to know about more with the other options?” The doctor offers and Anya shakes her head. 

It’s already swimming from information. 

“We also have resources for therapy,” the doctor tells her gently. “If you want to talk your options through with a professional. You should come back in a month for a follow up appointment, should you choose to remain pregnant.” 

A photo of the sonogram is printed off and handed to her and she just stares at it as the doctor continues to talk about vitamins and caloric intake. 

Anya thinks about how far off the path she’s gotten from the one she was set on as a child and how long it’s been since her life has looked anything like it has a child with an opulent name and the future stretched ahead of her. 

It feels like something inside of her has already made a decision.


	4. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a lot of exposition, I am sorry.

The house Dmitry pulls up to is too nice for the one that they should be going to. Anya sinks down in the passenger seat because she’s a teenage girl with holes in her clothes that weren’t manufactured in them and pants unbuttoned under a borrowed sweater. Her shoelaces are mismatched and she’s never been so aware of how poor she is until this moment. 

“Vlad married up,” Dmitry tells her, by way of explanation. “His wife, Lily, appreciates the finer things in life.”

Well that left Anya out. 

She picks at her nail polish with her thumbnail and Dmitry gets out of the car. It’s too late to go back now and she has nothing to go back to. Back at the Kent’s home she’d be either kicked out for running away or being pregnant or, if not for those reasons, when she turns eighteen in June. 

The life of an aimless wanderer suits her, she thinks, having already been ejected to another corner of the country once or twice in her life. 

She can remember home, even if she can’t remember its location. 

More uncertain is where the little alien in her stomach belongs. It’s easy to lose track of something when you give it away. 

“You can be charming,” Dmitry tells her when he opens her door for her. “They’ll like you.” 

“I’m charming to everyone but you,” she says, taking his hand to get out of the car. Her legs are cramped up, despite the ample room they have there. 

“You sure do know how to make a guy feel special,” he teases and hands her the backpack she’s been using. 

Anya tries not to be apprehensive as they walk their way to the doorway, and reaches out and grabs Dmitry’s wrist, who slides his hand up to fit in hers. 

A middle aged woman opens the door, looking delighted to see them. Anya looks over her shoulder to make sure that maybe there’s not someone behind her. 

There’s not. 

“I can see the dinner Vlad’s prepared won’t be enough,” the woman declares. “You two look as though you haven’t eaten in months.” 

“It’s been an hour,” Dmitry assures the woman, who looks doubtful of that. “Lily, this is Anya. Anya, this is Lily.” 

“You’re beautiful,” Lily declares and Anya flushes because she’s dirty and malnourished. “But look a little unwell, are you okay darling?” 

“I’m fine,” Anya says. “Just pregnant.” 

Better to get it out of the way now, she supposes. 

Lily reaches over and cuffs Dmitry on the arm. “You didn’t say!” 

“I just found out,” Dmitry tells her. “We just got done at Planned Parenthood.” 

Well he knew before then, but she’s not about to quibble over a day of knowing. 

“I see,” Lily’s hands are on her shoulders, sizing her up and her grip is firm and doesn’t allow Anya to shrink. “Go find Vlad, I’m going to show Anya to her room.” 

“I thought we were sharing,” Anya says. Normally she wouldn’t care, but she doesn’t like the idea of sleeping alone in this big house. 

Lily releases her to wrap her arm around her shoulders. “We will see if he deserves it.” 

Dmitry takes it in stride, and presses a kiss to Anya’s temple before leaving her alone with Lily. 

She brings her up to a separate part of the house, there’s a little door and several steps and it brings them to the part over the garage Dmitry told her about. 

There’s the main room, with a bed in the middle, a small kitchen area off to the side and two doors- one for the bathroom and another for a closet, Lily explains. 

They don’t have a lot of stuff to take up space in the closet. 

“Did Dmitry tell you what I do?” Lily asks and Anya shakes her head. Dmitry didn’t tell her much of anything about them. “I resell a lot of vintage clothing and jewelry and some other things. I must have some things in your size and some maternity things.” 

“You don’t have to,” Anya says even though she knows she can’t really keep rotating the same three outfits and stealing shirts from Dmitry. 

“Oh but I want to,” Lily waves off her protest, and takes Anya’s backpack from her and sets it on a chair. “So you’re from Cleveland as well?”

“Since I was 12,” Anya responds, taking a seat in the most comfortable chair she’s ever sat in. Her grandmother’s place had fancy furniture but was uncomfortable to lounge in. “Lived in Michigan for several years with my grandmother before that.”

They had a house by the lake. She used to watch the boats from her window every morning. 

She hopes it’s enough information to not prompt more questions about her childhood. Her life before living with her Nonna is off limits. She doesn’t remember that much of it, but that one thing was drilled into her head for eternity. 

As for asking what happened to her grandmother, it’s a topic she’d rather avoid. 

“Making your way through the Midwest,” Lily comments. “I lived in Paris with my late husband for a decade before he made us move back here to take care of his mother. Then they both died within weeks of each other.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Anya responds automatically. 

“The best thing he ever did was die and leave this place to me,” Lily dismisses and Anya blinks. “Would’ve been better if it was in Paris though.” 

“Everything’s better in Paris.” 

“Have you ever been?” Lily asks and Anya realizes her mistake. 

That was from the before time. 

“When I was very young,” Anya’s more careful with her answer now. It’s been so long since she had to consider what she says. Dmitry asks about her but never delves into her past too much, as if he can sense the forbidden aspect of it. “I barely remember it, but I think everything is very impressive when you’re young.” 

“Paris is impressive no matter your age,” Lily tells her, and looks at her watch on her wrist. “Dinner should be ready shortly. You have food in the pantry here as well, help yourself whenever you like.” 

Lily seems like the sort of person who would have a yes basket. The few kind foster parents she stayed with- always temporarily- always had a basket of food that was always okay to eat no matter the time or circumstance.

Building food security, they called it. 

Anya still stowed away snacks, kept in hidden places and eventually ravaged by mice in some instances. 

“Thank you,” is what she tells Lily. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” 

“I adore shopping,” Lily insists, and Anya cracks a bit of a smile. “Any type, any occasion. It’s why Vlad and I host so many of our friends that pass through.” 

That does remind Anya of one question she has, that she probably should’ve asked Dmitry but she doesn’t like asking him questions out of fear it’ll prompt him to ask her ones. 

It seems the right time to ask this one, however. 

“How do you know Dmitry?”

“Vlad was his guardian when his father was imprisoned,” She tells her. “And remained so after he died. Vlad and I reconnected around the time Mitya turned 18, and offered to have him move with us but he didn’t want, and I quote, our ‘charity’.” 

Sounded like him. Though he’d agreed easily enough to leave with her. 

“And now Vlad has a construction business?” 

“I have a construction business,” Lily corrects her. “I let Vlad be the manager of it. What are you doing while Mitya works on site?” 

Anya shrugs, “Have to find a job. And the people at PP gave me some places that help out with medical bills for pregnant teens and appointments so I am supposed to start contacting them.”

There’s a flutter in her stomach, as though to reinforce she needs to do this right and take care of this better than she normally takes care of herself. 

“Let me see the list they gave you,” she stretches her hand out and Anya digs into her pocket for the folded and crumpled piece of paper. “I’ll go through this for you- I know the doctors and people in the area better than you.” 

Spending all day on the phone telling people she was a pregnant seventeen year old who was technically homeless seemed a bit of a nightmare so she just nods. 

“As for jobs,” Lily continues on. “You can work for me- don’t argue,” she says when Anya opens her mouth to protest. “I hate computers. I started this because I couldn’t go to local shops to get rid of my cursed mother-in-law's clothing- it’d be seen in poor taste by society, and the damn online shop went and got popular so now I’m very much in demand and can’t stand staring at a computer screen for hours.” 

Anya doesn’t trust kindness, and Lily and Vlad have already been far too kind for them. But she’s tired and hungry and emotionally spent from her own life. 

“I’ll help until I find a job,” Anya compromises. She can’t be wholly reliant on the kindness of others, and her faith is already out of her comfort zone by leaving with Dmitry. 

“You and Mitya are two of a kind,” Lily announces and then claps her hands. “Alright, time to get up and eat. I won’t let you leave until you’ve had at least two helpings.” 

Anya’s not even certain if she can stay awake through an entire meal, let alone if there are seconds but she gets up and follows Lily anyway. 

None of this was what she was expecting from friends of Dmitry and she feels far more overwhelmed than she anticipated.


	5. chapter four

Dmitry goes to work with Vlad and leaves the car keys and cell phone with Anya in case of emergencies. He tells her where to find Vlad’s number in the phone, kisses her on the forehead and leaves. She has no idea what they are, and knows that’s on her. That Dmitry would take more if she were to give it, but she has a lifetime of holding back trained in her and she doesn’t remember how to want things. 

The urge to leave when he leaves is great, a natural reflex. The only thing that keeps her weighed down is her morning sickness, gluing her to the toilet the first forty five minutes she’s alone. Then Lily finds her and Anya already knows there is no running away once she’s in Lily’s eyesight. 

She brings Anya down to the main dining room, and sets a cup of herbal tea in front of her and toast and jams. 

“Being pregnant seems like such unpleasant business,” Lily comments. “It’s why I’ve never indulged in a full term pregnancy. I hear the reward is more than worth it.”

Anya shrugs because she just doesn’t know. “So you and Vlad don’t have any kids?” 

“No, never was for me,” Lily waves it off and Anya envies her confidence in the matter. “Vlad is a big kid. Plus he had Mitya, even though he was practically an adult when he got him.” 

Anya is pretty sure once a child is potty trained would qualify as practically an adult to Lily. 

“My sister Sophie has seven children,” Lily continues on. “She got all the maternal genes and then some.” 

Anya is one of five. Or was. She’s not certain what she counts as now. 

She reaches over and grabs a piece of bacon to chew on and Lily smiles at the sign of appetite considering Anya’s been picking at toast for half an hour. 

“We can reheat that, darling,” Lily offers and Anya shakes her head. Lily has done too much for her already. “I’ll introduce you to the inventory and the website today. Maybe we can find a pair of luxury pajamas for you to wear and feel comfortable.” 

Anya is still wearing Dmitry’s shirt she had pulled on the night before. 

“I have some clothes,” Anya points out as Lily pours her more tea. 

“We can always use more clothes,” Lily insists. “I’ll wear pajamas today too and it will be fun.” 

Anya thinks of Dmitry’s keys on the nightstand and sighs. 

She doesn’t know what to do with this much attention given to her anymore. 

-

“So how did you and Mitya meet?” Lily asks her as Anya is going through the orders in the email later on. 

She’s outfitted in a mint green robe and Anya is in a blue sink two piece that is more comfortable than anything else she’s ever worn. 

Maybe she’ll allow herself this one thing to keep. 

“At a party last year,” she answers. Last October. She supposes it means something that they met in October and may be having a baby together in October a year later. “We had mutual friends.” 

“Was it love at first sight? Or, rather, lust?” Lily reaches over to take some of Anya’s Chex mix, something she’s gotten into today while Anya was snacking on them. 

Mostly the latter. 

“We spent most of the night arguing,” Anya responds. Arguing is too strong of a word. “Well, disagreeing.” 

“Ah, foreplay,” Lily says and Anya doesn’t deny it. 

It was mostly one night that expanded into more hookups. She supposes it’s a sort of dating, she wasn’t seeing or hooking up with anyone else and it was never discussed. She doesn’t know about him but she rather thinks he hasn’t been with anyone else but her in awhile. 

They’re together now out of circumstance. (Never mind that circumstance is her asking him to run away with her.)

“He’s not so bad,” Anya admits, and Lily laughs. 

She’s grown rather used to stealing his clothes and having his arms around her in the middle of the night, and the other sorts of comfort he provides. 

Even the stupid daisy he got her. That she may or may not have kept in the drawer of the nightstand. It’ll be completely dead soon but she can’t bring herself to throw it away. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Lily tells her. 

Anya smiles but she doesn’t quite mean it. She still doesn’t know what she is. She remembers what she’s supposed to be but she hasn’t been that in so long. 

And she’s definitely not that now. 

-

The nightmares almost feel comforting when they come. Anya doesn’t know what it means when the only comforting part of her childhood is routinely twisted in her mind into poisonous thorns. But she belongs, no matter the narrative. 

She hasn’t felt she belongs outside of her nightmares since she started getting them. 

Dmitry’s caught her when she awakes, arms wrapped around her, securing her to him. Words gentle in her ear. So gentle she wants to cry. 

When she’s alone, and she’s always been alone before now, she just stares unblinking at the ceiling, falling back asleep and re-entering exactly where she had last woken up. 

“Must be some nightmare,” he comments, once he sees she’s lucid and awake. 

“More of a memory,” She responds with a sigh, shifting in his grasp. “How old were you when you lost your dad?” 

“Thirteen,” Dmitry answers. “Well, twelve when he was arrested.”

“I was twelve when my grandmother died,” Anya says. She wonders if they’ve had this conversation before. 

Maybe in some form. 

They’ve had a lot of late night talks between kisses and touches when she doesn’t feel so in control of what she lets slip. 

“Did you always live with your grandmother?” He asks, his hand resting against her stomach. He does that a lot now. 

“No,” she says, closing her eyes remembering her life before. “I moved with her when I was eight.” 

She knows the next question and doesn’t know what answer to give. 

She’s dodged it as much as the question of why she’s always wanted to run away so much. 

The answers are practically identical. 

Dmitry’s intuitive though, and doesn’t ask it, instead he leans over and presses a kiss against her lips. Anya wants to do what she always does when the opportunity for distraction presents itself, (Also how she ended up pregnant in the first place, she supposes.) instead when he pulls away, instead of pulling him back for more she lets the words slip out. 

“I have four siblings.” 

Dmitry blinks, and there’s hesitation when he starts to ask, “Are they s…”

“I don’t know,” she answers, her fingers twisting in his shirt. “But I want to find them.”


	6. chapter 5

It was a lot of information to take in at once. Dmitry settled his head down on the pillow next to Anya as her entire story came pouring out of her. Hearing she had siblings out in the world wasn’t much of a surprise- she’d always had that untethered quality to her. It’s the rest. 

“My parents,” she tells him. “Were Nicholas and Alexandra Romanov.” 

The name sounds distantly familiar. Something he’s heard at some point in his life in the background. It was a famous- and brutal murder that had taken place almost a decade earlier. 

“Didn’t they and their children-“

“ _They_ did,” she says softly. “My parents were always paranoid about people being after us, I don’t really remember why, I was very young. But something really spooked them when I was about eight so they sent us all into hiding.” 

“Separately,” he’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement. Anya’s spoken of foster families and her grandmother before, but never of any other family member. 

She nods to confirm. “My grandmother insisted on taking me, even though it was risky. Immediate family made it easier to get caught.” Anya pauses to clear her throat. “Their concern was genuine because not even a year later they were gone. I wasn’t supposed to be told, i was always told we’d be reunited when it was safe to but…”

It was never safe. 

“Do you know where your siblings were sent?” Dmitry asks her and she shakes her head. 

“None of us were told anything,” she tells him. “I don’t even know what names they go by now, or who they were sent to. I think my grandmother was in charge of all of that and she’s…” 

“Gone,” Dmitry finishes for her. 

“Murdered,” Anya corrects, but doesn’t say anything more about it. 

This is more than she’s ever told him before. 

“I know this sounds insane,” she says, rolling over to her side to tell him. 

It does, but he knows how quickly things can unravel to the ludicrous. His father had been convicted of a crime he didn’t do, wrongly imprisoned and had died in a place he never should have been. 

No one had believed Dmitry and his father’s story either. 

Dmitry shrugs, nothing with Anya had been ordinary since he had met her. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, his brain finally catching up to something she had said earlier. “The one you had before Anya Dagmar.” 

“Anastasia,” she says and he lets out a laugh at how ornate it sounds. “What?” 

“You’re an Anya,” Dmitry tells her. “You’re absolutely an Anya.” 

It makes her smile and he leans over to kiss her and she sighs against his mouth. 

“I’ve been angry for years,” Anya tells him. “Wrongfully ripped from my family and helpless to do anything about it.” 

“Until now.”

“Until...this,” she says, her hand covering where his hand had been early where their baby was growing. “If I’m going to have a baby I don’t want it growing up like I have been, not having any family around.” 

They haven’t talked about options or decisions since her appointment at Planned Parenthood, he’s tried to give her space to think and reflect. Apparently she had. 

“Are you?” He asks, his hand covering hers. “Going to have a baby?” 

Anya bites her lower lip and nods. “I mean, I think so. I’ve been thinking about and now the reality is here I don’t think I could… you know?” Dmitry starts to nod and she continues on. “You can do whatever you want and go or stay here and work.”

“ _That_ sounds insane,” Dmitry tells her. “I go where you two go.” 

Maybe they’re not doing this for the right reasons or making the right decisions at their age. But Dmitry has felt untethered for years until Anya came into his life. 

“I don’t have much to go on,” Anya tells him. “This entire trip could be pointless.” 

“Don’t know until we try,” Dmitry points out and she nods before pulling him to her. 

Intertwining together feels like several promises made to each other at once. 

-

“Why?” Dmitry asks the next morning when he wakes up, and Anya’s arms are around him and her face is pressed against his neck. “You’re never going to be the big spoon, you’re like one of those soft toddler spoons.” 

Anya bites his neck lightly in response, and hooks her leg around his. “I can be big spoon.” 

Dmitry laughs and easily shifts onto his back so Anya is at his side instead. “You lost your place in the drawer.” 

In response she climbs on top of him, resting her cheek against his chest. 

She’s in a lighter mood than she has been. As though last night's confessions and decisions were truly a weight off of her. He works his fingers through her blonde hair. A peak of strawberry blonde is growing at her roots. 

“Are you going anywhere today?”

“Thought I’d replace that daisy you have dying in the drawer,” Dmitry tells her. 

He can feel the face she makes against his skin. He’s not supposed to know about that, or at least, not supposed to comment on it. 

“All you do is get me daisies,” she sighs, not unhappily. 

“And a baby,” he points out. 

She shakes her head before tilting her chin up to look at him, “No, that’s a daisy too. I’ve just decided.” 

Dmitry just laughs in response, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Did you want to start the search for your siblings?” He asks. “Or know where to start?”

She crawls off of him, reaching into a nearby drawer to pull on a striped sweater of his and sits back against the headboard. “I’ve been thinking about that.” Dmitry sits up as well, taking the spot next to her. “I’m trying to remember other people I knew when I was younger, my parents didn’t let a lot of people close to any of us.”

Dmitry grabs his phone off the nightstand, pulling up the web browser to type in her family’s name. There’s a lot of articles about the murder of her parents, and even more speculation and confusion if it had just been them or the children as well. 

Finally he finds older articles. 

“You’re originally from Georgia?” He asks her and she shrugs in response. Too young to remember Georgia, he interprets that as. 

“I don’t remember much of my parents house,” Anya says. “We had neighbors though with kids around our ages.” She scrunches her nose, as though trying to remember more. “Katya was her name, we used to play a lot. We were all a little bit in love with her older brother. Vik. Viktor.” 

It’s his turn to make a face at that and she shoves at his shoulder before resting her head against it, peering at the phone. 

“In love enough to remember a last name?” Dmitry asks, hopeful, and she turns her face against his shoulder. Well, that is a no. 

“Something Russian,” she says, turning her head once again. “Not a -V ending either.” 

“It’s a start,” he says and she gives him a bit of an apologetic smile. “Did you ever get a hold of a doctor here?” 

“Lily did,” she answers. “I’m seeing her on Monday.” 

Dmitry reaches down and squeezes her knee. “Can I come?”

“I guess,” Anya says. “If you want to come. They’re supposed to do an ultrasound of the baby.” 

“Of the daisy,” he corrects her and that gets a smile out of her. “I want to come.”

Anya reaches down and intertwines her fingers with his. 

It feels like something has definitely taken root between them that wasn’t quite there before.


	7. chapter six

Lily doesn’t let a moment pass where she’s not pushing food in front of Anya. Her diet has expanded past the beef jerky and bold Chex mix she’d been living off of. It’s not terrible, she’s decided. Staying about Lily and Vlad’s garage and sleeping next to Dmitry and waking up to the smell of sawdust and lemongrass. She spends most of her time on the computer, uploading Lily’s inventory and dealing with customer questions, concerns and complaints. 

And eating. 

She looks healthier, she knows. Part of it is eating better, a lot of it is pregnancy hormones. Her reflection bares little resemblance to the girl she remembers. 

At the end of the day, Dmitry and Vlad come in, shaking off construction site debris, and making a beeline to the assortment of snacks Lily has laid out for Anya. 

Lily makes a noise of protest when Dmitry reaches over, grabbing one of the finger sandwiches. 

“Don’t you want an office job?” Lily asks him, turning her nose at his work worn clothing. “Darling, we have one of those for Mitya, don’t we?” 

“He’ll never take it,” Vlad insists, bending down to kiss Lily on the cheek. “Plus he’s so restless, he’d drive me nuts in the office.” 

“It’s true,” Dmitry agrees, sliding into the seat next to Anya. 

“I like it,” Anya says. “Very masculine of you.” 

Dmitry rolls his eyes but kisses her when she turns her head. They’ve bypassed any sort of relationship talk and still exist in the same limbo they always seemed to. 

“I like you,” he tells her quietly, and she’s not quite certain why that makes her blush when she’s been sleeping with him for months. 

Dmitry’s been in a good mood since their last doctor’s visit. With the ultrasound and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat steady in both their ears, securing them to the ground in a way they haven’t been in awhile. 

At least not her and she rather thinks it’s the same for him too. 

Little by little she thinks they come to understand the other better than anyone else has before. 

“Get better taste,” is what she tells him out loud however. 

Anya would rather die than be vulnerable at this point. She knows she’s survived death before, she doesn’t have anything to draw on to know if she’d survive having her heart so open. 

Dmitry just laughs in response. It’s a nice hideaway they have here. It’s almost enough to make her want to give up finding her family and just stay here. 

She wonders if they’ve given up on finding her and that’s why they’ve never found each other. 

-

Anya used to dread the night. When she was young, her parents would have them do drills in case anyone ever came for them. She never understood that, even when it was happening. When she was a little older, the night reminds her of hiding in a trunk in the attic while her grandmother was murdered. The night has never been very kind to her. 

The night still haunts her, but it’s more tolerable with someone. Dmitry is always in motion, always restless when he gets ready for bed. It’s different when there’s someone to share the darkness with. Even if the ghosts of the past seep into her dreams. 

She sits crossed legged on the bed, quietly observing him. 

You can learn a lot about a person in the silence. She tries not to think about what the silence says about her. 

“You’re always looking at me,” Dmitry comments, pulling his shirt over his head and giving her something to look at. 

“You keep telling me there’s something worth looking at,” Anya counters, leaning back as he crawls onto the bed. “I’ve yet to find it.” 

Dmitry kisses her and proves her a liar. “It’s amazing how you got pregnant all on your own.” 

“I don’t think an inability to put a condom on right is something to brag about,” she tells him. “But go ahead, take all the credit you need.”

Dmitry stretches out in the space beside her, his arm resting against her midsection. The silk pajamas that Lily gave her are already starting to feel tight. 

She’s not certain if it’s from the pregnancy or the eating better thing or both. 

“I liked it when you wore my shirts to bed,” Dmitry tells her and she smiles. 

She liked that too, but she felt somewhat bad about poaching his clothes from him. Maybe tomorrow she’d steal one of his sweaters. 

There’s a burnt orange one that clashes with her hair she feels like would horrify Lily. 

“Do you need a label?” Anya asks suddenly,, no matter how delayed the conversation is. She wonders if she’s taken it for granted, the way she said run and he grabbed her hand and ran with her. 

“Nope,” he says, nose nuzzling against her cheek. “We already got one.” 

Family, she thinks and not just because they’ve accidentally created a life together. 

“What’s that?” She questions, curious what his own answer is. 

“Team,” he says and she decides he likes his answer better. 

“What a team we make,” she says, testing out the term. “Me, you and the daisy.” 

It’s still too early to find out the gender, but she feels impatient to know. Once Anya makes a decision, she rushes head first into it. 

Now that it’s real and she’s decided to have the baby, she’s ready to jump ahead for the next step. Science dictates otherwise. 

It could be a terrible decision on her part, and she hates to think of bringing in a child to this world only for it to end up with the same fate as her. 

Dmitry feels solid next to her, but her father felt solid once too. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

Anya freezes but manages a nod. “Sure.”

“What are you going to do if you find your family?” He asks her softly. “Will you go back with them?” 

Dmitry has the same fear she does of being left behind. 

“Don’t think they’ll want me back,” Anya teases and he shakes his head. 

He deserves a serious answer but instead she twines herself around him, capturing his mouth with hers, and lets her body say the words she can’t bring herself to say out loud. 

I won’t leave you is what it whispers in the dark. She just isn’t certain if it’s him or her that’s saying it. 

She likes to think it’s both of them. 

-

It’s May before anything changes. Before her stomach truly starts to swell, before her routine throw ups disappear, before the baby inside of her truly begins to take shape and form and can be called a she or a her instead of it or a daisy (they still refer to her as a daisy) and before any progress is made in the search for her family. 

Lily’s trimmed her hair, makes sure there’s always something to eat in front of her and comes with her to doctor appointments if Dmitry can’t make it and keeps contact with any of the financial medical aid people. 

Anya still can’t get used to it. This feeling of being taken care of. 

Her parents raised her to be a soldier, her grandmother trained her to be self reliant and foster care has made her utilize those skills for five years now. She doesn’t know how to unlearn who she’s become. 

Dmitry, Lily and Vlad all try, however. 

It’s a Sunday afternoon and she’s reading a book by the window in their makeshift apartment when Dmitry comes back from the store. 

He kisses her on the cheek. “Zborovsky.” 

Anya scrunches her face. “What?” 

“Katya and Viktor Zborovsky were your neighbors,” Dmitry tells her, leaning against the window sill. “Katya is currently in boarding school overseas but Viktor and his wife currently live in Houston.” 

“You found them?” She asks, amazed given how little she had to go by. Though she supposed being Romanov neighbors could eventually jog the memory of someone. Or at least find out what her address in Georgia had been. “Do you have a plan?” 

“I might,” he evades and she frowns. “Need to finish this job with Vlad first. Do you think you can wait?” 

No, but she also didn’t want to travel to Texas by herself and go up to a boy she hadn’t seen in ten years and be like hey do you have any idea where my siblings went?

Viktor might not have any answers but he’s the only tie she’s had to her family in years.


	8. chapter 7

Lily didn’t think it was a good idea for them to go to Texas, even after both Anya and Dmitry promised to come back. An errand they had to run, which crossing the country- even vertically- raised Lily’s doubts. 

Dmitry let Anya say whatever she wanted about their trip, her past and didn’t offer to fill in any blanks. There’s a reason why he inspired such loyalty from her for months now. 

Vlad’s let them off for the week- something Lily could easily override if she wanted- especially given she’s also Anya’s boss, no matter how much she doesn’t act one, but she doesn’t. 

It’s different now, being on the road together, than it was when they first snuck out in the middle of the night. This time it felt more deliberate, as though they were meant to do this together. 

“I hope the daisy likes traveling,” Dmitry comments as they pull onto the dark highway. “Because we sure seem to do a lot of it.”

Anya looks down at her stomach that’s starting to expand out, “I rather think she does.” 

She still has no idea of the gender, but considering they keep referring to it as a daisy, it seems only fitting. 

“Do you think we will settle somewhere?” Dmitry asks her, his hand intertwined in hers. “Or just spend the rest of our lives wandering?” 

Anya’s never been able to visualize the future, her past is shrouded over everything she’s ever done. 

“A forest cottage, I should think,” she responds, because when she has no answer she veers towards something ridiculous. 

“I’ve never not lived in a city,” Dmitry tells her. “Would have to get one of those white noise machines that play loud car noises and sirens.” 

Anya laughs at that. It feels like she’s lived in so many places but she supposes it’s only four states at this point. 

Four states, two names. Multiple guardians. 

“We’ll get you a suburb,” she tells him. “Close to the city, you can drive an SUV and wear a polo shirt and spend your Sundays golfing.” 

“What would you do in a suburb?” Dmitry asks her. 

“Book club, day drinking,” she shrugs. “Watching the nanny you’ll eventually have an affair with take care of the daisy.” 

It’s hard to see with the sky still dark but she knows Dmitry is rolling his eyes. 

“I think your cottage will be just fine,” Dmitry tells her softly. 

“We’ll have an entire garden,” she says, turning towards her side to fall asleep. 

-  
_  
“What’s your name?” Her chin is held by her grandmother’s thumb and index finger, the nails digging into her skin._

_“Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova,” she says, her name being drilled into her as a source of pride for as long as she can remember._

_Nonna’s grip tightens on her, “That was your name, what’s your name now?”_

_She didn’t think she’d have to be someone else when they were alone but she knows the answer to this._

_“Anya Nicolette Dagmar,” she responds, her voice as sure as before. Nonna let’s go of her chin. “When do my sisters get here?”_

_“They don’t,” her grandmother responds, not impatient but not very patiently either. “They’ve gone off to live elsewhere for your protection.”_

_This is the part Nastya doesn’t understand. She knows her parents are in danger and are worried about that danger. She knows her little brother is sick and she hardly gets to see him, so often he’s in the hospital. But her sisters and her have always been a unit. The big pair and the little pair._

_There’s hardly a memory left in her when she doesn’t remember Olga tucking her into bed, Tatiana scolding her to not fidget or Maria holding her hand._

_“Where did they go?” Surely they could still write letters. Olga had written to her every week when she went to camp and Nastya had promised to write her best friend, Katya._

_“It’s not safe for us to know,” her grandmother tells her. “Anya is an only child.”_

_Nastya’s lower lip starts to tremble. “I want Olya.”_

_Her oldest sister is the one that’s raised her the most, despite the fact only six years separated them._

_Her grandmother softens a fraction, Anastasia is the only one she softens for, “You will see your siblings again one day, I promise.”_

_She never makes the same promise to Nastya about her parents. Her Papa had hugged for the longest time before he said goodbye. Her mother had kissed the top of her head, looking misty eyed. Her Mama never cried- not even over Alexei- and Nastya didn’t know how to react to that._

_She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her sisters but she hadn’t known she wouldn’t be able to see them again for a long time._

_If ever. She wasn’t so young as to not know that was a possibility, she knew adults lied to her to make it so they didn’t have to deal with how upset she was._

_“Will they look for me?” She asks, shifting the stuffed horse in her arms. Tatiana had been so cross with her the morning before, after Nastya had broken a tea cup._

_“Maybe,” her grandmother says, and reaches over to fuss with her hair. Her Auntie Olga had come over to lighten her strawberry curls to a more yellow blonde and given her bangs. “But **Anya** ,” she emphasized her new name. She wasn’t Anastasia or Nastya anymore. Simply Anya. “Never leave anything up to fate, always be proactive and make fate happen for you.” _

_If her siblings wouldn’t find her, she would have to go find them on her own._  
  
-

Dmitry wants to stop at a hotel on the nearly sixteen hour trip, but Anya won’t let him. Their money is limited, especially taking this time off from their jobs. They pull into a rest stop and they pull back their seats to fall asleep and when she wakes up she pushes him out the front seat and makes him get in the passenger seat so she can drive for a few hours. 

Two hours outside of Houston and Anya gets nervous and lets him take back over. They stop at an Arby’s and eat lunch. An unhealthy mix of beef n cheddar and curly fries. 

“What’s your plan?” Dmitry asks her, not helping her nerves at all. 

“Just talking to him I guess,” Anya says, picking at her nail polish. Lily is forever irritated with her picking at her nail polish after she goes through the trouble of reapplying it for Anya. “See if he remembers any of us at all.”

“I think you’d be pretty difficult to forget,” Dmitry tells her. “If your siblings are at all similar I’m sure the pack of you together are unforgettable.”

She wrinkles her nose, “You’re biased.”

Dmitry brings her hand up to kiss it. “You bet.” 

There’s this thing she does so she won’t forget. Goes back through a list of things she remembers about her siblings so she won’t forget them. 

They all have blue eyes. Olga is the oldest, and she always smelled of peppermint. Tatiana had the darkest hair and was strikingly beautiful. Maria was the gentlest but also her partner in mischief. Alexei was curious about everything. 

Anastasia collected porcelain unicorns and had strawberry blonde curls, and made as much trouble as possible for the attention of her older sisters. 

She tried to always remember to include memories of Anastasia, because that girl doesn’t exist anymore and hadn’t for a long time. 

She let her go hiding in an attic while her grandmother screamed downstairs. 

“I think we’re almost there,” Dmitry says pointing up the street. “Unless they’ve moved recently this is where Viktor and Ri live.”

Another thing to be nervous about. 

“Viktor was very kind when we were younger,” she says, more of a reminder to herself than informing Dmitry. 

Dmitry glances over at her, opens his mouth as though to say something but closes it. Then the car pulls up in front of a modest house and he turns the engine off. 

Her hands go cold and dry at once. One breath. Two. 

“I’m going with you,” he says, not as a question. 

Anya nods, knows it’s not a fight worth having. She wouldn’t want to go into a stranger’s house alone- even if she had known him a literal lifetime ago. 

She clasps his hand, her wrist twisted awkwardly from the fact it wasn’t a planned out handhold, rather an instinctual one. 

There’s a small fence to open and a brick walkway to go up. This could be all for nothing, she reminds herself. People move all the time. He could know no more than she did, or less even. 

Dmitry reaches over and rings the doorbell for her before reaching down and righting their hands. 

It goes against her nature, the way she’s come to depend on him. 

The door swings open, but it’s not Viktor who opens the door but rather a petite woman with dark blonde hair and very blue eyes and Anya realizes she never needed to go over the list in her head all these years because she recognizes her sister on sight. 

Maria Romanova opens the door.


	9. chapter eight

_Olga and Tatiana hate it when the Little Pair play tricks on them. Naturally, this meant Maria and Anastasia were prone to mischief. It was easier for Masha to pull off, she had a sweet disposition and no one could fault her for anything. Even when she ruined Tanya’s favorite shoes by putting pudding in them. Anastasia, however, was too high strung, a little too spoiled and therefore always received the brunt of her older sisters’ annoyance._

_They were good big sisters, however, and never stayed cross for too long._

_Today Anastasia and Maria were hiding in a cupboard ready to jump out at whatever older sister came along first. It was quiet and they’d be walking around suspicious over how quiet it was. They’d check outside, high spirits and noises always got banished outside first._

_Their mother would fret over Alexei not getting enough rest. He’s only three and spent a good chunk of his life in the hospital from illness. He has a personal nurse that tends to him- Monsieur Rasputin but sometimes he makes things worse than helps. Mama and Papa were constantly bickering these days over the treatments he was giving little Alexei._

_Anastasia and Maria are very good at hiding and have overheard more than they should but they don’t understand most of what the adults are saying. She’s certain Olga could figure it out- Olga was smart and could figure out most things._

_They’ve been cramped up for twenty minutes- maybe longer- it’s hard to read on the watch her Nonna bought for her in the dark. Maria has to keep reaching out to stop Anastasia from fidgeting._

_“Who is your best friend?” Maria asks her. “In the family, Katya doesn’t count.”_

_Katya was their neighbor and most definitely Anya’s outside the family best friend. Her father worked for Anastasia and Maria’s father. Anastasia had no idea what any of their parents did but Papa wore a suit and an angry face when he was doing business on the phone._

_Anastasia loved to imitate him and it would make him roar with laughter and he wouldn’t be able to make that angry face for so long after._

_Either way, this is an easy answer. “Alexei.”_

_“Alexei doesn’t count,” Maria rolls her eyes- Anastasia can’t see it but she can hear it in her sister’s voice. “He’s all of our best friend.”_

_This was true. All four sisters had absolutely been obsessed with their brother when they got one. Their Mama was constantly having to break up petty fights over who got to spend time with him._

_Mama usually won and would take him away so they’ve learned to try to get along so they can see their little brother._

_“Oh, then you,” is also an easy answer._

_Maria’s arms wrap around her in a sort of hug. “You’re my best friend, too, Nastya.”_

_They’re quiet as they hear footsteps. They’re too heavy to be Olga or Tatiana’s so the sisters freeze and Anastasia holds her breath._

_She wonders if it’s Papa but then Rasputin’s voice is the one that starts talking. It’s in Russian and he must be on the phone and he keeps pacing back and forth._

_Anastasia slowly lets out her breath to frown. She knows Russian, has learned it along with French and English since she was born and what he’s saying doesn’t make much sense._

_Maybe he’s speaking too fast and so her brain isn’t translating correctly._

_He hangs up with an angry grunt but could also just be a part of the Russian language and Anastasia waits a few moments to make sure he’s not coming back._

_When she turns to look at Maria, her sister is frowning._

_“I don’t think I like Rasputin much,” her sister says quietly._

_It makes Anastasia frown more. Mama always tells them they should adore Rasputin because he was saving Alexei’s life._

_He’s gotten less and less patient with the sisters lately- Olga especially since she keeps studying medicine and reading scientific journals even though she’s only thirteen._

_“I like anyone who can help Alexei,” Anastasia declares though she doesn’t sound as confident when she says it._

_Maria reaches over and grasps her hand, “Promise me we will always be best friends.”_

_Anastasia blinks, “We will always be sisters?”_

_“Sisters and best friends are always the same thing,” Maria reminds her. This is true, her relationship with the Big Pair is very different from her relationship with Maria._

_“Oh,” Anastasia says. “Of course we will always be best friends too.”_

_She wonders if Maria translated the same things she had from Rasputin’s phone call. They could all speak Russian but her older sisters didn’t keep up with it as much as she did._

_But then the conversation fades away and they can hear a lighter set of steps and the sound of Olga grumbling to herself._

_Then they jump out, and startle their sister into dropping her entire lunch and everything is forgotten for the moment._

__

-

Anya wonders how much her own face has changed since she was eight. There’s no photos of videos for her look back on. Her grandmother insisted on leaving them all behind, saying her imagination was enough to hold her over until they’re all reunited. 

Her hair is more blonde, she knows that. Her Nonna lightened her hair when she was younger and she’s kept up with it. Anastasia is a strawberry blonde, Anya a more honey toned one. Right now she’s a mixture of both, with her roots growing out and the tips of her hair a fading pink. Lily had wanted to cut the pink out entirely when she had trimmed her hair but Anya hadn’t let her. 

Maria’s hair had been somewhere between a blonde and a brown when they were younger. The girl before her has hair that is very much brown but it turns out Anya’s imagination was enough for her memory. She can still see her older sister in the shape of her nose, the color of her eyes and the way she tilts her chin when she’s annoyed. 

She’s dressed nice, as though someone that has never been without the fear of losing money a day in her life, and there’s a very nice ring on her finger that could probably purchase them at least two of Dmitry’s cars. 

Sometimes Anya forgets how humbled she’s been in life, the mansion and grounds in Georgia seeming more like a memory from a movie than anything from her actual life. But she’s suddenly overly aware of her chipped nail polish, the unironic rips in her jeans, the oversized sweater she’s stolen from Dmitry that can’t really hide her pregnancy anymore if she turns to the side. 

Dmitry’s hand is on the small of her back, which gives her courage even though he cannot understand at this moment he’s literally delivered her to her sister’s doorstop. 

Her flight response is kicking in and Dmitry’s hand has the added effect of keeping her in plan. 

“Did you guys break down?” Maria asks pleasantly, vid of any sense of recognition on her end. “Did you need a phone?” 

It’s an easy way out and Anya has to swallow down the words that would let her out with that. 

“Maria?” She manages to get out, her voice a little hoarse. 

Maria’s expression darkens and takes a step back, her hand on the door, ready to shut it. “Who are you? What do you want?” 

She wonders if she’s truly changed so much that not even a hint of curiosity crosses her sister’s face. 

“I’m-“ her tongue gets stuck to the roof of her mouth and her palms sweat. She’s kept the truth buried so long that it feels like a lie to tell. “Anastasia. I-“ 

“Please stop,” Maria says, her fingers curling around the wood of the door. “You people are disgusting, I don’t know how you find me but I don’t humor anyone claiming to be my sister. My little sister died five years ago, leave me the fuck alone before I call the police.” 

Then the door slams in her face. 

And she stands frozen until Dmitry’s pulling at her hand, guiding her back to the car.


	10. chapter 9

Anya’s eyes are a bright blue, but the first thing Dmitry noticed about her was the path of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had her nose scrunched in concentration as she played flip cup on the roof where a party was being thrown for his birthday. 

The best gift he ever received was the universe throwing her in his path. He doesn’t think she knows what the party was even for, just a chain of acquaintances that led her to that roof top that night. 

Sometimes Dmitry believes in fate. But mostly where she’s concerned. 

It takes several blocks for her to get a hold of herself. She’s not crying, not really. She’s doing a silent shaking thing without noise that is a skill he recognizes from far too many foster kids. Or rather, people from not great homes. 

“I’m not…” she starts and winces when there’s a crack in her voice. Anya starts over again. “I’m not lying.” 

“I know,” Dmitry responds. 

The thought has never crossed his mind. Anya’s not a liar. At times, she’s painfully honest. 

She slides down in her seat and he’s not certain what to do, so he stops at Arby’s again and gets her a jamocha shake. She dips her curly fries in them and doesn’t talk the rest of the ride back to the hotel. 

Anya hugs herself as she turns on the television, reclining on the bed and avoiding his gaze as she does so. She resists it for a second when he wraps his arms around her, but she relaxes letting him pull her back against her. 

“You think we’re a family now?” She asks him, her first words in hours. She moves his hands down to her stomach, her skin rippling slightly under her skin. 

“Yes,” he speaks definitively for her, trying to lend her some of the confidence he feels for them. 

Even without the baby they would be. 

“It was stupid of us to come,” she says. “I knew that before we left.” 

Dmitry presses his lips against her temple and she turns the volume up on the movie that’s playing. 

She’s deflated from the loss of hope and he doesn’t know how to make it better. 

Dmitry’s cursed with the need to always fix things and never having the actual tools to do so. 

-

Dmitry wakes up to the other half of the bed empty, and his heart drops for a moment as he tries to figure out the likelihood of Anya disappearing in the middle of the night. She always seems one breath away from slipping away from him. 

He pushes his hair back and feels the creases in the sheets that she’s left. That’s when he hears the shower shut off. 

“Did I wake you?” She asks, when she comes back out in his sweater and her hair wet and twisted into a braid. 

“No, the lack of you woke me,” he tells her, and opens his arms and she crawls into his embrace. Warm and soft from the shower. 

“I suck at night driving,” she tells him, as though that explains why she’s still there. “That’s why I needed you to run away to begin with.” 

Dmitry laughs, “Is that the only reason?” 

He wonders if there will ever come a time when their relationship doesn’t feel so fragile. 

“The daisy wanted to meet you too,” she allows and presses a kiss below his chin. “I think you’ll be a good father.”

His heart constricts at that, pulling him into memories with his own father. A man whose impression he’d left on his son had been larger than life, too much to have been completely real. 

He’s doomed to fail when it comes to living up to his father for this reason. 

Dmitry evades these thoughts by asking, “What was your father like?” 

“Trouble and paranoid,” Anya responds. “But he adores all of us. Used to sneak the five of us out of bed to dance and play and eat sweets after our mother had put us to bed.”

“You think you’ll be a strict mother?” Dmitry asks her. 

“No,” her answer is immediate. “I like sweets too much. The daisy and I can sneak out to the kitchen in the middle of the night and eat sweets while you look on disapprovingly.” 

He frowns, “Why am I the one looking on disapprovingly?” 

Anya tilts her head up to look at him, “Because you already make a face over half the food I eat.” 

Fair enough. 

“Okay I’ll be the disapproving but indulgent father,” Dmitry promises and she laughs. 

“I might be paranoid though,” she warns him, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. 

Dmitry bends down and kisses her and she sighs against his mouth. 

Still, neither of them get that much sleep that night. 

-

“We should go back to Chicago,” Anya announces the next morning. She’s putting some sort of hair dye throughout parts of her hair. It looks similar to the pink she’s had in it. “We’ve reached a dead end here.” 

“Where do you want to look next?” Dmitry asks her. There’s not a lot to pack up, so he walks over to the sink outside of the bathroom where she’s working. “Is this safe?” 

She shoots him an offended look out of the corner of her eye. “Yes. And nowhere. If Maria won’t accept me, then none of them will and I don’t want to keep going through that.” 

Dmitry touches the small of her back, as she peels off her gloves. “It’s easy to prove who you are.” 

“I can’t afford to take some DNA test and be like here I’m one of the lost Romanov daughters and I’m seventeen and pregnant,” Anya tells him matter of factly, but in a way that comes off practiced as well. 

“Anya-“

“No,” she says, a bit more forcefully. “I knew ten years ago I wouldn’t see my family again when we left and it’s stupid of me to think it was ever possible.” 

Anya steps away from his hand and shuts herself in the bathroom, turning the shower back on, presumably to wash her hair out. 

He wonders if they should’ve waited to make this trip, but then again they hadn’t expected to see her older sister, much less have her open the door. 

There’s a knock on the motel door, and Dmitry checks the time to see how close they are to getting kicked out for check out, but they still have an hour or so. 

There’s a tall red headed man on the other side that Dmitry recognizes from when he was researching Anya’s family. Viktor Zborovsky. 

“How did you find us?” Dmitry asks, looking to see if Maria had come with him. 

“That’s my question,” Viktor says. “But the out of state plates helped. Ri told me what happened, and I had to see for myself.” 

“Anya’s in the shower,” Dmitry tells him, “And she’s already been through a lot so if you’re just here to make sure we leave, no need to bother.”

“It happens at least once a year,” Viktor tells him. “Someone shows up claiming to be them. Mostly Anastasia but sometimes one of the others, too and it destroys Ri every time it happens.” 

“We didn’t come for Maria,” Dmitry tells him. “We came to find you because it’s the only thing she could remember about Georgia was living next to you and your sister.”

“Anastasia would be seventeen, she should be in school,” Viktor points out, but Anya’s story isn’t really his to tell so Dmitry doesn’t offer up any excuses. He looks around the hotel room as though it could offer up the proof needed that his old neighbor and youngest sister in law was alive and here. He picks up the jar of stuff Anya had been using on her hair. “Her favorite color was always pink.” 

It’s not a lot, or anything really, as it’s many girls- many people’s favorite color but Dmitry takes it anyway. He tears off a piece of paper from the motel station and writes Lily and Vlad’s address on it hastily. 

“In case Ri ever wants to reconnect with her sister,” he tells Viktor, handing him the paper. 

Viktor hesitates but takes it, folding it and placing it in his pocket. 

The faucet in the bathroom shuts off and Viktor takes a step back. 

“I’ll let Ri know you guys have left,” Viktor tells him, a bit awkward. 

The door’s shut a breath before Anya comes out, the ends of her hair a vibrant pink once more. She’s wearing her own shirt, it’s stretched against her bump, and she wraps her arms around him from behind. 

She tells him, “Let’s go home.”

It’s the first time he can remember her using that word.


	11. chapter ten

Anya throws herself into helping Lily organize and post her collection when they get back from Texas. It comes up once or twice when Dmitry does, but Anya is a master at diverting the conversation back to the baby. 

When it’s time to find out the gender- which Anya does, she has no desire to be surprised by anything, Lily refuses to let them find out from the doctor. She insists on making some sort of deal out of it, and Anya already shot down all the suggestions she had made for her eighteenth birthday. 

When it comes to celebrating herself or her child, she will give in for her child before herself. 

Dmitry tells her she doesn’t have to choose though. 

“Isn’t this how fires start?” Anya asks, a sealed envelope in her hand. 

Lily clucks her tongue and plucks the envelope out of her hand, “No pyrotechnics, I promise.” 

Vlad backs up that promise because Anya isn’t positive it’s one Lily can keep. 

Lily loves doing things big and loud. It’s unnerving, she doesn’t remember how to make a big deal out of things anymore. 

She wants to learn again for the sake of her child. 

She doesn’t want the baby to absorb disappointment like Anya has learned how to. 

Fortunately what Lily does is bring back cupcakes from the local bakery for the four of them to bite into to reveal a color. 

“It’s as pink as your hair!” Vlad exclaims. 

“You’re going to have the most beautiful girl,” Lily sighs. “No matter who she looks like.” 

“A little more if It’s Dmitry though, right?” Anya teases, and thinks this is the closest feeling she’s had to a family since before her grandmother died. 

Dmitry smudges frosting on the tip of her nose in response. 

Anya wonders if she should feel more surprised but she’s felt her daughter growing in her for months now, and felt she knew what she was before an ultrasound could tell her. 

Feels good to be right about something, especially when it comes to her daughter. 

-

“Do you want to stay here?” Dmitry asks her, when they’re watching television one night. “In Chicago, I mean, not in Lily and Vlad’s garage.”

“Where else could we go?” Anya asks, she’s almost eighteen so after that they could go almost anywhere. 

She’s not certain what they can afford but they’re both resourceful. 

“Anywhere,” he says, kissing her temple. She reaches behind her to move his hands to her lower back. “I have some friends in Washington.” 

“I don’t know,” Anya tells him. “Here is good at least until she’s born.” 

But she’d like a real home too. A place to decorate and make their daughter feel secure and welcomed. Even if it’s a shitty apartment but it’s theirs. 

“Did you want to look for your other siblings?” Dmitry asks, his voice cautious and his hands hesitating on her. “Or wait until after Daisy’s born for that too?” 

Anya lets out a little laugh turning on the bed to face him, latching onto only one thing he said. “Is that what we’re calling her? Daisy?”

Dmitry gives a little shrug in response, “It feels weird to call her anything else, don’t you think?” 

She’s been the daisy for so long, she supposes it’s only fitting she gets to be Daisy outside the womb as well. They can grow together. 

“Daisy Sudayeva,” Anya tries out loud. 

Dmitry looks surprised, “She gets my last name?” 

“My name is rather cursed, both versions of it,” Anya points out. “I want her to have the best chance from the start.” 

“Daisy Sudayeva,” Dmitry tries out, unable to stop the smile on his lips. It’s contagious. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Anya asks him. 

“Did you want to change your last name?” 

Oh, she’s not a girl that’s ever imagined being proposed to. At least not since she became Anya. 

“Are you proposing?” She asks him, somewhat amused by the entire concept and their entire situation. “We’ve never even dated.” 

“Because you’ve never let me take you out on one,” he reminds her, and she supposes that is true. 

She’s very adamant against forming attachment and had thought to stick to that until she found her family again. Anya Dagmar had always sat in her head as a temporary arrangement, her stupidly awaiting a reunion that wasn’t going to happen. 

Maria hadn’t waited at all before becoming Ri Zborovskya. 

And Anya’s name- Anastasia Romanova and Anya Dagmar both had been rather cursed, but she’s not certain if that’s a good enough reason to get married. 

Nor does she really remember how to want anything. 

“Ask me again after I’m eighteen,” Anya decides, even though it’s only a couple weeks away. 

“To marry me or on a date?” Dmitry asks her. 

She laughs, “Surprise me.” 

-

Anya wakes up on her eighteenth birthday to an unfamiliar feeling. She’s disoriented and confused and it’s not until she sits up that she realizes what’s going on. 

“Dima! Dima!” Anya calls out, she can hear the shower running but since this has never happened before she doesn’t know how long it will last or if it’ll happen again. 

Dmitry is quick to shut off the water and he runs out with a towel around his waist. It might be distracting enough to forget what she called him out for, and a reminder of how she ended up in this situation to begin with. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, shaking his hair out. 

“Nothing,” Anya says, “I think she’s moving.” 

Dmitry comes over and sits on the bed as she pulls her sweatshirt up and guides his hand to where she felt the foot press against her. 

The baby kicks against her father’s hand. 

“Has she done this before?” Dmitry asks, following where the foot presses against skin. 

“Yes, I just want to call you into the room every time it happens,” Anya says, rolling her eyes. 

Dmitry reaches over and pokes her on the shoulder, “Sorry, I’m not awake yet.” He blinks, “Actually we are both awake. Happy Birthday.” 

Oh yeah. “Apparently Daisy wanted to give me the gift of kicking my organs.” 

“I feel like she gets that from you,” Dmitry dips down to kiss her and she feels the baby move again. “You like to kick in your sleep too.”

“You’re so sensitive,” Anya teases. “But now we don’t have to do anything today.” 

She’s not done anything for her birthday since she was twelve and doesn’t even know how to celebrate anymore. 

“Not a choice you get to make,” Dmitry tells her and she tugs on the end of his towel. “Lily has a lot of plans for you.”

“Lily’s going to have to wait,” Anya declares and he laughs against her skin. 

Dmitry doesn’t put up a fight, and she starts to think maybe she will marry him after all.


	12. chapter 11

Olivia Averin has two names, two pasts, two phone numbers and, thankfully, only one husband. Her coursework amount transcends a number value, her first year in medical school satisfying challenge. 

Livy likes things she can solve. Medical mysteries have a finish line, a resolution. Everything else in her life seems murky and without a clear journey or end point. 

Except Pierre, her life was saved the day she met him, she’s fairly certain. 

In a literal way, he became an EMT to help pay his way for medical school and was first on a scene during a terrible first date she was on when she had an allergic reaction to peanut sauce she didn’t realize was on the entree and he jammed an epi-pen into her thigh. 

“Almost second base before our first date,” he liked to say, mostly because he enjoyed the way her nose would wrinkle in distaste at the joke. 

If she could only choose one life, it would be the one she has with him but that makes her stomach twist with the betrayal to her parents and siblings. 

She’s leaving her 7pm class, pulling through the Starbucks for a nitro cold brew to help her get through the studying she needs to do that night when a message comes through her second phone. 

Typically it’s only Ri that uses it, few and far between, so nicely folded into her life with Viktor that she doesn’t peak out very often. 

Livy doesn’t blame her, the connection to their old neighbor means she typically ends up on the front line to their past. 

It’s not Ri, however, but rather the private investigator she had hired five years earlier when she had turned eighteen. 

Her hands shake but she waits until she’s home to listen to the message. She’s learned the hard way, before, of not listening or picking up while driving or being out in public. 

“That you, Liv?” Pierre calls out when she shuts the door behind you. 

“Yeah,” Livy tells him, taking a sip off her drink before walking into the kitchen where he’s set up to study himself. “I got a message on my other phone.” 

He jumps up at that, and she thinks of all the years of being conditioned to distrust outsiders and not let anyone in and she threw it away with a jam of a needle. 

It’s a good decision, she loves him and has faith in his love for her. 

“Ri?” He asks. “Ta-“

She shakes her head before he could continue on with the list of names of people who were both her siblings and strangers. 

“Dave,” she says, and he frowns. 

“Thought he found everyone that could be...found,” he finishes the last part awkwardly as she winces. 

Livy had a determination that could only come from being an older sister. She hadn’t been an older sister in 10 years, though she had been the neighborhood’s best babysitter throughout her teen years. 

“I haven’t listened yet,” she tells him, “I have an exam tomorrow, I don’t want to get distracted.” 

“You’ll get distracted imagining what he’s saying,” Pierre points out, “Just listening, maybe he’s checking in.” 

She wishes she had indulged in picking up a sweet or pastry while she had been grabbing her coffee, something to help her cope with the stress. 

Livy strives during stress when it comes to school and medicine but not her family. She keeps pushing the calendar in the back of her head that reminded her of Anastasia’s 18th birthday, or what would’ve been her 18th birthday. 

She bites her lip as she connects to her voicemail, the private investigator's voice coming through, making the brief small talk that he makes until he says he forwarded an amber alert to her email that she might be interested in. 

Livy goes through the roster of her surviving family and their current whereabouts. It’s always in the back of her mind, the tabs she’s kept on them the past several years. They’re all spread out across the country, separated and different than they once were. 

The email he sent her is an amber alert out of Cleveland Ohio, a few months old. The photo is of a teenager girl, pink tips in her hair, her hand partially curled over her face and she wonders if they really did choose this terrible photo or if there weren’t any others to choose from. Bright blue eyes that are an echo of her own, but none of that is what grabs her attention. It’s the name. 

Seventeen year old Anya Dagmar, last seen in her foster home in March has been reported missing. Her height is listed, eye color, hair color and then her date of birth. June. 

Livy tries to remember the practices she knows to slow down her heart rate and ease her anxiety but it’s a constant beat in her ears. 

She knows that name- the last name at least, the name Nonna had taken up when her and Anastasia had been found murdered. Or had they. 

Nonna definitely had, and people never really spoke of the granddaughter who had lived with her. She had just vanished without a trace until this snippet came in her life. 

She searches online for anything that follows up but there’s not much follow up to it. She’s an orphan, and she’s turned 18 now. No one there to advocate finding her, and all other sources pointing towards her being another teenage runaway. 

She stares at the blurry photo of her, the direct eye contact her hollow blue eyes make with her, the slope of her nose before it’s blocked by her hand, her hair dipped in her youngest sister’s favorite color. 

Nastya had been obsessed with pink, taken to it in away none of her older sisters really had. They’d all liked it, but every decision Anastasia made seemed to be determined by what shade of pink it was. 

She looks for hints of her sister as she’s known her but Anastasia was a child when they went their separate ways, it’s nearly impossible to see a resemblance other than the eye color is the same. She searches for their other sisters and younger brother in her face, the shape of her fingers. 

Livy stares so hard at it she’s not certain if she’s conjuring a resemblance or if it’s actually there. Then she does what she needs to do before calling Dave back to see if he can find this girl. She forwards the email to her siblings asking what they want to do. 

It’s not even a minute later that her phone lights up with Ri’s name on it. 

“That was q-“

She’s not able to get the words out before Ri is interrupting her. 

“Olya,” she says, slipping back into her childhood nickname- her other name. “I know that girl.” 

Cleveland is a long distance from where Ri lives with her husband in Texas. About as much of a distance, if not more, than where Livy lives in New Hampshire. 

“Masha, what do you mean?” 

“It’s stupid, I get random people claiming to be us from time to time,” her sister says, the words coming out in a rush. “And this girl showed up with some guy claiming to be her- Anastasia.” 

Livy steadies herself, “What did you do?” 

“Sent them away,” she says. “We were told Nastya was dead and-“ 

“I understand,” Livy tells her, attempting to keep her voice even. She did, even if there’s a part of her that wants to start an argument with her younger sister. “Did they- did she tell you anything at all?”

“I didn’t let her,” Ri admits, “It’s not the first time-“

“I know,” she says, and she does know- as unhappy as it makes her. 

There’s a long silence between them and she wonders if any of their other siblings have responded. It’s latest where she is, on the east coast, everyone else is in time zones behind her. 

“Do you think she’s still in Texas?” 

“I don’t know,” Ri answers with a sigh. “I think Vik might have talked to them, to make sure he left. He’s not home yet.”

“See if he did,” Livy says, liking that there’s now some sort of plan. Find out what Viktor knew. If nothing, send Dave out to see if he could find out where Anastasia- Anya had gone. “And we’ll go from there.” 

“Night Olga,” her sister says, the name she was called for the first thirteen years of her life always makes her freeze up, no matter who is the one saying it. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” she says. 

There’s definitely nothing else she’s going to be able to concentrate on tonight now.


	13. chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday, taylor swift. cant believe another surprise album has come out since the last time I updated this.

Lily pays her too much money, and Anya is very aware of it. Whenever she brings it up, Lily waves her off and tells her she should see how much she made and she would be complaining the other way. She also says it’s her former husband's money and she had no relatives of her own to leave money too and wanted to spend as much as possible to make sure it didn’t go back to her husband’s family after her own death. 

Anya wants to point out she could always donate money to get rid of it but she has a feeling she is the charity in this case. She asks Dmitry how much he makes but she doesn’t know enough about construction to know if it’s a good amount or not. 

She never thought about money when she was young, taking for granted she had it. She got to learn about poverty the hard way. She learned everything the hard way it feels like. 

Anya pokes her stomach to try to wake Daisy up. It’s a built in friend in a sense, to have her there, inside her. Anya’s existence has been a constant state of loneliness for half a decade now and the feeling and reality of it is a bit overwhelming. 

Daisy is responsive, if not a bit sarcastic, jabbing Anya in the bladder. 

“I think you take after me,” Anya tells her. “And I create a lot of trouble. So does your dad, or else you would t exist.”

Lily is on a kick of finding vintage baby clothes to hand over to her. Daisy is going to have a lot of stylish and expensive dresses to throw up on when she appears in the fall. 

Anya’s terrible at accepting things for herself, but she finds it impossible to say no to things on behalf of her daughter. 

“There’s a phone call for you,” Lily announces, knocking softly on the apartment door. 

She scrunches up her nose, “No one knows me but Dmitry.” 

That was true in multiple ways. 

“They asked for Anya Dagmar,” Lily frowns. “I’ll get more information and have you call them back if you’d like.” 

Anya nods, laying back against the bed and her heart racing. She has Dmitry’s phone, but he doesn’t have one. She wonders if she should get one now, especially with the baby only a few months away. 

If she even lives that long. 

There’s been a part of her that’s felt hunted by death ever since she was young and every year she gets older is another year she never thought she’d have. 

“Thanks Lily,” Anya says, and goes back to the business of bothering her unborn child in the womb. 

Daisy responds somewhat violently in return and Anya decides both of them need a nap. 

-

Anya awakens to the smell of sawdust and lemongrass so she knows Dmitry is back before she even opens her eyes, her shoulder being shook gently. 

She makes an unhappy noise in response, not ready yet to wake up. When she falls asleep during the day she’s less haunted by memories. 

She never had nightmares, just relives her past. 

“You okay?” Dmitry’s voice is soft when he speaks to her. Too kind of a tone for her. She doesn’t open her eyes but leans forward slightly and he slips behind her. 

“Sleepy,” Anya complains, the act of growing another human is apparently an exhausting process. “Did you bring food?” 

“No,” Dmitry kisses her temple, his hand resting on top of her stomach, where their daughter gently presses back against him. 

Ah, so it was going to be like that. 

“I need a phone,” she says, suddenly remembering and finally opening her eyes. She can see the sun dipping low in the sky from the window. She wonders how long she slept for. 

Dmitry frowns, his chin resting on her shoulder. “You have my phone?” 

“That’s only one phone,” Anya points out. “I wanted to talk to you but if I texted you it would just come back to me and that’s pointless.” 

“Was something wrong?” He asks her, and goes to move but she wraps her hand around his fingers and keeps it in place. 

She makes a face, he can be so obtuse. Also because she doesn’t want to say it out loud. “No I just missed you, Stupid.” 

Anya can feel Dmitry’s laughter behind her. 

“And,” she felt the need to justify. “What if I had to go to the hospital and called Vlad’s phone but you weren’t near him and then he spends hours looking for you and by the time you arrive I’ve either given birth or am dead.” 

Dmitry sighs, “You underestimate how much Vlad does not let me out of his sight, per Lily’s orders. But we should have two phones.” 

“Nothing fancy,” she tells him. 

“You can have whatever you want, Anya,” he tells her, even though their trip to Texas had proved otherwise. 

Anya tries not to dwell on that. The closest she’d been to any of her family in years and Maria hadn’t believed her. 

She’s not certain if she’d believe her as well. 

“Anything?” She questions. “So next time I ask for junk food you won’t argue with me?” 

“I’ll always argue with you,” he promises her, bending around to kiss her on the lips. “It’s one of the more enjoyable activities on earth.” 

Well that explains a lot of their interactions since they first met. 

She can’t deny the enjoyment she gets out of it herself. So many years of people trying to break her down and make her feel small, but only around Dmitry does she feel the ability to push back. 

“Poor Daisy probably deserves more functional parents,” Anya laments and rolls out of bed, trying to stretch. 

Her body feels awkward more and more every day. 

“No parent is functional,” Dmitry points out, his own strange way of trying to comfort her. 

“I don’t think that’s as comforting as you think it is,” she teases. “Oh!” 

“What’s wrong?” Dmitry asks, jumping up from the bed. 

“Nothing, I just remembered Lily took a phone call for me earlier,” Anya explains. She was growing more and more forgetful as time went on. 

The internet said this was normal and called it pregnancy brain. It did not seem to get better after the baby was born. 

“On the house phone?” Dmitry is as concerned as she was over this. They’re both two people who mostly know life off the grid. 

“Apparently,” Anya says, and he follows her to the door, his hand on her back to help balance her. “Lily?” 

She appears at the base of the stairs when Dmitry and Anya make their way down there. 

“Oh, darling you’re up!” Lily exclaims, and disappears again before reappearing with a piece of paper. “Feel blessed, there’s no one else I’d act as a secretary for.” 

“Olivia Averin?” Anya reads off the paper. “Did she say who she was or what she was looking for?”

“She’s a medical student,” Lily explains. “Said she had some questions for you.” 

Anya wonders if this has anything to do with the financial help program for her pregnancy. Lily had made the calls for her, so it makes more sense they’d have the phone number for her instead of Dmitry’s number. 

“Pregnancy questions?” Anya asks. 

“Med students have to learn somehow,” Lily tells her. “You’re not obligated to call her back if you don’t want to.”

Anya shrugs, pocketing the name and phone number into her pocket. She can call tomorrow, she doesn’t like getting anything for free so if she needed to answer a medical student's questions in exchange for the medical care she was getting for the baby, she supposed she could. 

Even if she hated talking to strangers on the phone. 

Hopefully she wouldn’t forget. 

“Do you guys have dinner?” Anya asks, since Dmitry hadn’t brought her anything. 

Lily wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her away from Dmitry. “Of course, darling. You and your daughter need all the nutrients you can get.” 

For someone who never wants children, Lily really has the maternal thing down when it comes to Anya. And it gives her hope that maybe she has the same instincts buried deep down in her as well.


	14. chapter 13

Big green eyes greet Tabitha Quinn when she blinks awake. It’s not an unfamiliar sight and she sighs as she reaches over to smooth back his dark blond curls and closes her eyes again. 

“Hmohr,” she says, her palm covering his small face. “Wmpf er Mumph?” 

“Tabby,” he says, speaking far more clearer than she is at two. “Mama gone.” 

If Marfa Spektor has left her alone with a toddler to never return, Tabby would spend the rest of her life hunting her down to murder her herself. 

Not that Henry Spektor isn’t adorable and perfect and a living doll, he is just also a toddler. 

“Henry,” she says, rolling over. His eyes widen, delighted that he’s finally secured her attention. “Where’s your uncle?” 

Xander isn’t actually his uncle by blood, but they’re all a family weirdly patched together. 

“Sleeping,” Henry responds, he’s answering her questions so it’s far more helpful than he typically is. 

Xander is 13 so he spends most of his time sleeping. Tabby is envious of that. 

She wraps her arms around him and he shrieks as she pulls him against her. His little feet kick in the air. She blows a kiss against his cheek. 

“No! No!” He protests. “Tabby!” 

“Is Tabby torturing you?” Comes a voice from the doorway, causing Henry to wriggle in her grasp. “He tells me how mean you are.” 

“Does he tell you how he wakes me up every morning by staring in my face and breathing straight on my nose?” Tabby responds and releases the small demon from her grip. 

“‘Mommy!” Henry jumps off the bed and straight into his mother’s arms. “Don’t ever leave again.” 

Marfa ignores that request, and taps Tabby on the thigh and leans over, and kisses her in greeting. “Where’s Xan?”

“Asleep according to your son,” she responds. “I haven’t seen him yet today.” 

“What does it mean when me and my genetics are the morning people in the house?” Marfa questions and deposits Henry back on the bed. “I used to be out late every night and asleep until dusk.” 

“You’re so old now,” Tabby points out, even though she’s nearly two years older than Marfa. “Livy’s been trying to get ahold of me for weeks now, apparently.”

She’d been avoiding her older sister for weeks now, knowing she wouldn’t approve of what she had done. It’s the plus side of living in California while her older sister lives in New Hampshire and her younger sister in Texas. 

She’d been expecting for a while for Livy to find out she’d maneuvered it to become a foster parent for their younger brother. 

Separation has been key for them since before their parents murder and a necessity since their grandmother and youngest sister’s death. Or what they thought had been their youngest sister's death. (She still can’t wrap her head around this.)

Tabitha disagrees with this method, as it’s literally brought them nothing but death and misery, and they’ve all grown up without each other and she refuses to allow their brother the same fate. 

“Can you use the phrase apparently when you’re actively avoiding her?” Marfa asks and reaches over to help pull Tabby up. 

Ri tried her as well, which is what made her finally return one of her sister’s calls. 

_“Was starting to think you threw away all technology,” Ri accuses once she picks up the phone._

_“Olya terrifies me,” she deflects._

_“Nothing terrifies you,” Ri pushes back. “Her PI has a lead on Nastya.”_

_Tabby blinks at that, it’s a name she hasn’t heard in nearly five years, all the sisters step around it since they found each other._

_“Like, her body?”_

_She tries to remember the details of the slaughter at their grandmother’s hiding place with Anastasia. People tend to focus more on the details leading up to the incident and why it happened rather than the gruesome details of a murder of a grandmother and child._

_There’s a true crime documentary on her family for every streaming service, or at least that’s what it feels like._

_“And everything else,” Ri says, rather morbidly. “There was a girl, 17 years old, reported missing in Cleveland back in the spring, named Anya Dagmar.”_

_“They told us she was dead,” Tabby points out, locking herself away in the bathroom in case Xander comes home and over hears it._

_All the Romanov siblings do is lie to protect each other and succeed at lying and fail at protecting._

_It’s no wonder they’ve all found families of their own, immersing themselves in these new identities. Olya and Masha married Pierre and Vik as soon as they became adults._

_Tabby’s no different, really, she was kicked out of the home her family had placed her in when she was 16. They got too spooked by what had happened to her parents and then grandmother and sister and feared being done after next._

_She was torn between finding her remaining siblings- afraid them being together would lead them to the same fate and just disappearing all together._

_She did a mix of both and lived in shelters and on friend’s couches until she met Marfa and Henry, back when the latter was just six months old and the former 17. The three of them huddled up together in makeshift shelters and abandoned buildings, taking turns between jobs and watching Henry._

_Once they could afford their own place- a cramped two bedroom apartment but it was better than anything either of them had seen in years. At some point, she’d been reunited with Ri and Livy but knew where Xander was but were hesitant to make contact._

_He’d made his way through several foster homes as well, his story similar though not as bad as hers. Soon after, without consulting her sisters, she worked towards getting certified for being a foster parent and finally over a year later had managed to get him in her custody._

_“Since when can we trust anything we’ve been told about our family?” Ri asks, darkly. But not wrongly. There’s a beat. “I’ve seen her, Tanya.”_

_Her heart is in her throat but she’s flippant in her response, “What, in the dozen imposters that have come to your door?”_

_She worries about Ri, truly. She’s the easiest of them to uncover. Well, after… She’d been sent off to boarding school with their old neighbor, Katya and fallen in love with Katya’s brother Viktor and married him._

_If people found their old neighbors they found her. She was on the front line._

_Ri is very quiet. “Kind of.” She takes a breath. “I’m just so tired. Livy’s reaching out to her.”_

_“To say what? Just kidding you might be our dead sister after all?”_

_“I don’t know,” Ri lets out another long breath. “I just always thought when I saw one of you again, especially...that I would just know.”_

_Both her sisters are perfectionists who put too much pressure on themselves. Tabby learned long ago that nothing is perfect. Especially fate._

_“It’s been ten years,” Tabby tells her younger sister gently. “We were all children last time we saw each other.”_

_“You should come.”_

_“To Cleveland?” Tabby asks._

_“She ran away from Cleveland,” Ri says. “We think she’s in Chicago now.”_

_“Never really pictured Nastya as a person to hop through the Midwest,” Tabby responds._

_“Check your email for Livy’s from the PI,” Ri instructs. “And then decide.”_

_She doesn’t know if she should be relieved they don’t know that Xander’s with her or what she should feel about the possibility of Anastasia still being alive._

_Tabby doesn’t trust things that are too good to be true._

“They think Anastasia is alive,” Tabby tells Marfa, back in the present. 

“I’d say they should make a biopic about your family but…” Marfa waves off that idea that’s already happened in some form. “Where has she been?”

“Cleveland.”

“Ah yes, exactly where I would run away from too,” Marfa says. Then softly, “You should bring Xan with you when you go.” 

Tabby glances over at the doorway. She’s going to have so much explaining to do. To so many different people.


	15. chapter fourteen

Livy doesn’t know what she’s expecting when she sees her youngest sister again but apparently in her mind's eye Anastasia is still a child. Light blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an attitude her tiny body can’t contain. She’s unprepared for the reality of a teenager with tired eyes, faded pink tips in her hair, and a swollen stomach she never would picture on her seventeen year old sister. 

A detail Ri either left out or didn’t know about from her one encounter with her. 

Her sisters should be in town soon, but she’s impatient and doesn’t want to wait for her sisters to show up. Tabby calls her a control freak, always needs to be in charge and have the most information in any circumstances. 

It’s not knowing any information that had helped land them separated throughout the country, estranged and strangers to each other. She hadn’t really seen it coming at all. 

“You must be Anya,” she says, the name feels foreign on her tongue, though she’s long grown used to her other sisters’ new personas. “You’re-“

“Pregnant?” Anya ventures, looking confused. “I thought that’s why you…?”

“It is!” Livy says, latching onto that lie to improvise. “Just your hair is so pink. Wasn’t expecting it.”

It’s a clumsy attempt at a cover up but Anya sits down. Still on edge, but that just might be a part of who she is now. 

“It’s safe,” she tells her, defensively. “I checked before using it.” 

“I’m sure you did,” Livy says carefully, not sure where to go from here. She’s not certain if she’s still stuck on her baby sister being alive or being a teen mom. “How are you feeling?” 

Anya shrugs, as guarded as any of them. She wonders why she bothered showing up. The promise of free food? Curiosity about her pregnancy? Was she still looking for them after her interaction with Ri. 

“I’ve been worse,” she responds, hesitant at first but then, “She kicks a lot. I think she gets bored easily.” 

Like mother, like daughter. She remembers Anastasia’s restless nature, the defiant tilt of her chin, the fire that would flare in her eyes. 

“So you know it’s a girl?” Livy asks her, taking the small talk approach. She can’t just bombard her with a million questions that she has. And is also interested in the answer. 

There’s not an ounce of recognition in her eyes. It rankles, slightly, that she had recognized Maria so easily. (Ignoring that there was context to recognize Ri, being placed in the same residence as their old neighbor.) She’s changed a bit. Her own hair is shorter than she ever kept it when she was younger, the hair much darker. 

Erasing traces of who they were is probably second nature to all of them by now. 

It hasn’t worked all that well for Anastasia, she still looks too much like their mother. Well if their mother had been the type to dye her hair a bubble gum pink. 

“Yes,” she answers. “We’ve been calling her Daisy.” 

We’ve, which means there was still the father in the picture. Livy is categorizing and memorizing every released detail. 

It’d been so easy to announce who she was to the other sisters. But they’d been older, found sooner. She’d thought her youngest sister was dead until a few months ago. 

It’s like meeting with a ghost in an alternate universe. 

“Daisy is a pretty name,” Livy says. 

It’d been too easy to reach out to Anya Dagmar, telling her she was a medical student and had a survey to do. Her sister’s pregnancy now explained why she had agreed with so few questions. 

Anya nods, tapping a finger against the table. A habit their mother would’ve hated. Impatience and fidgeting were not virtues that Alix Romanova could tolerate. She wonders how broke in her sister would be had she been raised by family. 

Well, other than the brief period she was with their Nonna. 

If she didn’t die with Nonna, where had she been?

“Why did you ask me here?” Anya asks, “When you called I figured it was a follow up to the whole financial aid thing with the baby but-“ 

She stops, wincing and Livy sits up straight. The medical student in her is taking over from the awkward estranged secret sister part of her. 

“Everything okay?” Livy asks carefully. 

Anya nods, but then questions, “How do you know when it’s real labor?” 

“How far apart?” Livy asks, pulling out her phone to check the time. “It could be Braxton-Hicks. When are you due?”

“I don’t know,” she responds. “And October.” 

So it’s not out of the realm of possibility for it to be real contractions. It also gives her something to focus on, something she somewhat knows how to handle. 

This is not at all how she expected meeting up with Anastasia to go with. A naive part of her had half expected her youngest sister to recognize her on sight. But there’s nothing but polite blankness- well now there’s increasing panic and pain. 

“Okay,” Livy says evenly, “I can drive you to the hospital.” 

Anya winces and nods, “I need to call Dmitry first.” 

“Who is Dmitry?” She asks before remembering Ri had mentioned there had been a guy with Anya when she had shown up. 

Most likely the father of the baby as well. 

“My,” Anya struggles for a moment before settling on. “Boyfriend.” 

“I’ll get the car while you do that,” Livy tries to keep an authoritative and calm voice but she’s shaking on the inside. This entire situation is way over her head. 

Anya is shaking on the outside and Livy tries not to eavesdrop while she talks quietly to someone on the phone. Someone that has a far more calming effect on her than Livy’s previous attempts. 

She tries not to resent that. She’s still a stranger to Anya, and she does resent that. She has lost pieces of her sisters to their new lives. Sometimes it feels like she’s the only one left standing on a piece of wreckage of their family, trying to keep their history afloat. 

“He will meet us at Northwestern Memorial,” Anya says as she gets into the car with Livy. 

Livy reaches over to grasp Anya’s hand, and Anya squeezes it in response. It’s probably a bad time to bring up the whole sister thing. 

She tries to keep up with positive pregnancy and labor facts to keep Anya optimistic and not scared of what may or may not be about to happen. She doesn’t know if it works or not, the only reaction her younger sister gives is digging her nails deeper into Livy’s skin. 

And she tries not to seem overly invested as Anya asks if she can write for her in the form to fill out while they wait. Her birthday is slightly off, but it seems like something that Nonna would’ve done to change for her. There’s a brief medical history, but nothing really to know. Though Livy is so focused on the task of asking the questions that she’s not paying attention to the actual questions and Anya snorts when asked if she’s sexually active. 

Eventually Anya gets carted in to be examined, and a guy comes in to join her. Looking a bit frazzled but takes over the task of holding Anya’s hand. 

Livy is left to pace out in the waiting room for whatever news and feels awkward about it. If she was just a med student conducting a survey then she’d probably just leave. Instead she’s caught in several lies and is the secret sister of the person who was admitted. 

She’s not left to stress for too long because several familiar faces pile into the waiting room and she’s caught. 

“You left your location on, dumbass,” Tabitha tells her, as though she has any concept of technology when she disappears from it for weeks at a time. 

“Is everything okay, why are you at a hospital?” Ri asks, a bit softer than their middle sister. 

“It’s not-“ Livy starts but is distracted by the presence of the third person with them as it connects with her. But she’s not the one that voices it outloud. 

“Is that Alexei?” The voice comes from Anya, who was heading towards the door, definitely not in labor and still pregnant. 

The third person with their sister looks the most confused out of all of them, “Who is Alexei?”

And it looks like they all have a lot of explaining to do.


	16. chapter 15

Anya has been very stupid because she recognizes Olga hours after she should’ve. In this context, standing amongst Ri- who she does recognize, with Tatiana and Alexei. The five of them fit in the waiting room providing context for each other once again. The big pair, the little pair and the golden boy. 

Daisy does a somersault in her stomach and Anya doesn’t pray but she finds herself doing so that she does not start real labor right here and right now. 

“We need to go outside,” Dmitry says, sweeping Anya away without hesitation. 

It’s for the best, her feet are cemented to the floor, her future and her past coming to a collision in the middle of an emergency room waiting room. 

She wants to memorize every forgotten detail of her siblings. 

“We shouldn’t cause a scene,” Olga- well, Livy now she supposed, speaks, causing Tatiana to snort. 

Anya wishes she could recognize them on sight rather than by using deductive reasoning. 

There’s a lot she wants to do but almost giving birth scared her into realizing she did not want to make that happen until they were firmly into October when she was due. 

As always, Anya’s first instinct is to run. Dmitry’s hand is already in hers, and if she were to squeeze it, he’d run with her. 

“It’s a little late for that, Tabby,” Ri says, gesturing to the very confused teenage boy. “Want to explain why our brother, Alexei, is with you?”

“My name is Xander,” he speaks up, still confused by whatever was happening at the moment. “And she’s not my sister, she’s my foster mom’s girlfriend.”

“Technically we are both your foster moms,” Tabby is quick to correct him. 

“You’re not very mom like,” Xander replies, giving a little shrug. 

Anya feels a bit of kinship for her second older sister in her ability to fuck up on a massive scale. 

Though, she does feel the need to point out. “If you were adopting siblings, I was in the foster system too.” 

Tabby huffs, “We thought _you_ were dead.”

“Well they tried,” Anya responds, deciding to brush that particular trauma off for the moment. “You should explain it to him or else this is going to get even more confusing.” 

Tabby still looks hesitant and pained, as one would if they had been keeping a major secret from someone for a period of time. 

“Have you ever heard of the Romanovs?” Her voice lowers at the end, as if the mere mention of their last name could set upon those who had wanted to kill them. 

Xander’s eyes squint, as if trying to recall any familiarity about the last name. Anya can feel the underlying anger radiating off of Livy and Ri towards Tabby. 

The three of them had a bond Anya and Xander had been left out and it stings more than she’d have thought. 

Then again she hadn’t thought much beyond the fact they were all flung across the country and she thought they had all lost contact like she had. 

“You can’t just say it like that,” Livy is exasperated, as though this is a continuation of another fight in the past. Given the face Tabby pulls in response it’s a well worn fight. “There were five of us- siblings, and our parents had a spot of trouble and hid us with friends and family members for our protection. We all got new lives, new identities. You were our younger brother, Alexei, and you were four when this happened.” 

Xander seems to process this well enough. Anya can relate, there’s enough crazy stories throughout the foster system that most things that are learned have a very this may as well happen sort of vibe to them. 

He does turn to Tabby, “So you’re my older sister?”

Tabby gives him a wobbly smile in return, “Sorry to disappoint.” 

And he looks over at Anya, “And you’re supposed to be dead?” 

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Anya’s not even sure how or why she got reported as killed along with her grandmother. She’s not certain if it was an assumption or something from the fact her grandmother obsessively planned out everything. And every possible scenario. 

“I’m sorry I-“ Ri begins, addressing Anya. 

“I’m sure you get it a lot,” Anya tells her. 

Ri shakes her head, “I just thought I would know if I ever saw…” 

Anya thought so as well. But she hadn’t with Livy and wouldn’t for Tabby or Xander if not given the context of the current situation. 

“I didn’t recognize Livy,” Anya tells her. “Though I’m a bit relieved, given she didn’t seem to know what she was talking about.”

Livy snaps attention at that, “I didn’t know you were pregnant. I really am a medical student.” 

“What do we do now?” Tabby asks, looking around. The parking lot isn’t full but it’s not empty either, and there are six of them gathered around trying to process a lot of family trauma at once. 

“I have more questions,” Xander speaks up, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks pale and is quiet. 

They’re all a bit quiet. Frozen by shock and the strangeness of knowing each other once more a day whole unit. 

Anya turns to Dmitry, who has kept quiet and out of this the entire time. She can feel the strain in his wrist from the effort of holding back. “Do you think Lily would mind?” 

“Lily would live for the drama,” he responds, his voice is quiet for just her to hear. “Whatever you want to do, Anyok.” 

She wants to go back to being seven years old and in the safety of her family, and she also wants to go back to the obscurity of being a number in the foster system that is easily lost and shifted around. 

Anya’s happy to have found her siblings, but the drama of feeling like she was about to give birth had really stolen a lot of the spotlight from the complexities of it all. 

“I want to go home and sleep,” she admits. Then, to her siblings, “Do you want to meet where I’m staying tomorrow morning?” 

It seems like a good idea, maybe, for all of them to reset. The unexpectedness of them all meeting at once and having other truths come out isn’t something any of them have prepared for. 

“What’s the address?” Livy asks, finding her footing as the natural leader once again with a plan somewhat in motion. 

Anya gives her the address and numbers are exchanged all around. She’s not certain how she feels, the four of them most likely going to stay somewhere in a hotel packed together without her. 

Reunited, she feels ever so much on the outside of where her family remained. 

Maybe it’s where she belonged.

Dmitry’s arm is looped around her lower back once more, lips against her temple as he directs her towards his car. 

“That was a lot of excitement for one afternoon,” he begins. 

“You missed the wildest part,” she says, struggling to get the seatbelt comfortable around her bump. 

“More wild than false labor and running into all four of your estranged siblings?” Dmitry asks, pausing on maneuvering the car out of the parking spot. 

Anya nods, definitive. “I called you my boyfriend.” 

Dmitry’s eyes roll and his shoulders relax as he backs out of the spot. “I can’t believe it took contractions for you to admit that.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” she teases, happy to have something light to focus on for now. The nightmares and anxiety of her past are always waiting for her in the shadow of the dark when sleep eludes her. “I’m not a sentimental person.” 

Dmitry glances over at her, and takes her hand once more and doesn’t call her out on the dried out daisies she’s saved as a collection. 

His pulse is steady against her wrist where their hands meet, and she knows whatever happens tomorrow when she meets up with her siblings that she already has a family to come home to.


	17. chapter sixteen

Anya does what she does best and she runs. Or she tries to, as Dmitry leans against the doorframe watching her pack her luggage- her belongings have somehow tripled since they’ve first arrived at Lily and Vlad’s. There’s also stuff for Daisy, there is no stopping Lily once she starts buying stuff and she’s not certain how to pack a bassinet anyway. 

She turns back to Dmitry, who still does not offer any help to her struggles and it makes her narrow her eyes. “You could help.”

“Am I invited to come along?” He asks, reaching for her hand and pulling her over to where he is. 

“I’m not raising a baby alone,” she tells him, though it sounds like pouting. “And I need someone to carry mine and Daisy’s stuff.” 

“And where are we going?” Dmitry questions, sliding his hand so his palm is against her lower back. “And what about the doctor you have set up here for the delivery?”

“I told you I’m going to be one of those teenage girls who gives birth in a toilet stall,” she says, though now she’s seen videos of labor she’s very certain it is not an actual reality she wants.

“Anya,” he says softly, far too patient with her but she’s overwhelmed and wants to run. “I thought you wanted to find your siblings?” 

“I did,” Anya responds, twisting a stuffed bear that Lily purchased for the baby. “But not like this.”

Dmitry gently pries the bear out of her hands and tosses it onto the foot of the bed, “How did you want it?”

“I don’t know,” she deflates. “I wanted us to be all the same people we were, like ten years ago. And I know it’s dumb because I’m not the same person I was when I last saw them. But we all have different lives and different names and it’s just...overwhelming.” 

“I know,” Dmitry tells her. “We don’t have to meet up with them. We can just cancel instead of running away.”

Still, Anastasia Romanova is too close to being known and it’s programmed into her to run when that happens and she doesn’t know how to sooth the itch in her feet. 

“They thought I was dead and just moved on,” Anya tells him and allows him to maneuver her to the bed. She picks up the bear again to sit down in its spot. “They found each other and couldn’t even bother to try to find me.” She tries not to let it bother her, the circumstances of their childhood so weird and so strange they can’t really be held against them. But still they had a connection, a history that left her out. Alexei seemed just as left out- facts wise but Tatiana had still sought him out and brought him in. “It’s all I thought about when we were separated.” 

“Are you angry?” Dmitry sits next to her, and she reclines back. She hates how comfortable and familiar this bed has come to her in a way that none she’s slept in before has. 

“Yes,” but she’s always angry, it’s been her most constant companion since she was small. “Are you angry?” 

“Been angry since I hit puberty,” he tells her. 

Anya frowns, and would turn on her side if she was physically able to. Dmitry lays back and turns on his side, as though sensing this about her. “I don’t want Daisy to be angry.” She has another thought. “What if she inherits the worst traits of the both of us?”

Her flight reflex, their anger, Dmitry’s cynical nature, Anya’s temper. 

“You can’t think like that,” Dmitry’s hand comes over to cover where the baby is shifting in her stomach. “She’s going to be her own person and have her own flaws.” 

“Dima,” Anya protests. “Stop.”

“She’s going to be perfect in our eyes,” Dmitry tells her. “Even if she throws temper tantrums that put you to shame. Even if she inherits my weird nose or your love of junk food.”

“What’s wrong with my love of junk food?” Anya asks, shoving at his shoulder. 

Dmitry laughs and dips his head to kiss her and she tilts her head to let him. “It’s unhealthy.” 

“So is the whiskey and vodka you and Vlad drink,” she tells him and sighs. “I think I’m in over my head.” 

“I think you were thrown in before you could swim,” Dmitry tells her, his palm cupping her cheek. “What do you want to do, Anyok?”

“I want to be Anya Nicolette Dagmar,” she answers. “She grew up in a shitty foster care system but she didn’t have any family baggage to deal with.” 

“You can’t erase your past,” Dmitry tells her and she makes a face. 

“I’m pretty sure my grandmother did exactly that before she was murdered,” Anya tells him. “Oh, I guess Anya had one family baggage. It’s hard to tell what should be Anastasia’s and what should be Anya’s.” 

“Anya,” he says. 

“I know,” Anya heaves out another sigh and Daisy backflips in the womb. “You like to move so much.” Then, to Dmitry. “I thought I was going to give birth today.”

“I thought you were going to as well,” he tells her, his thumb brushes against her temple. “Don’t think my heart has jumped into my throat so fast before.”

She smiles at that, even though the residual panic of the reality of giving birth, of having their daughter be less of an abstract concept to a real life infant in their life. 

Sometimes she’s not terrified when she thinks about it, she can feel little fingers wrapped around her index finger, baby breath against her skin, the flutter of eyelashes as baby blues close. 

She’ll be made up of bits and parts of them but she’ll be wholly herself too. And even the worst of them will look the best on her, Dmitry is right about that. 

“Can I say something?” He asks, and Anya nods yes but he hesitates before continuing. “Maybe you should wait on all the family stuff until after the baby is here. You guys know where to find each other now, and I think it’s just stressing you out in a way you shouldn’t be right now.” 

“You think I’ll be emotionally prepared for this postpartum?” Anya asks, though the idea is appealing as procrastination feels like a form of running away. 

“Maybe not,” he allows, “But it won’t stress you into early labor.” 

“I think thinking about labor might stress me into an early labor,” Anya says and Dmitry rolls his eyes. 

“Exactly,” he replies. “Let’s not add to it.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Anya finally allows, not sure how to think about it or what to do about it. It’s also how she’s felt about this pregnancy so it’s how she’s felt for months. A familiar feeling. “Hey.” 

Dmitry presses a kiss against her lips. “Hey.” 

“Love you.” 

He kisses her again, and she can feel the smile in his lips. “Love you, too.” 

She hasn’t known what it feels to be loved since she was 12, but right now she doesn’t want to leave this moment. 

The world outside can wait.


End file.
